Ordinary
by socially-awkward-butterfly
Summary: Adalia Shonley, a perfectly ordinary thirteen year old, gets kidnapped by Jim Moriarty to be his live-in ordinary person. When she is basically the pet of the consulting criminal, her ordinary life will be turned around. T for cursing and violence
1. Chapter 1

It's cold. That's what I keep thinking as I walk down the London sidewalk, a piping hot hot chocolate cradled between my hands for some warmth. My stomach twists itself in knots as I think about what I'm on my way to do. I easily locate the flat, 221B Baker Street, and prepare myself. I did a lot of research to find out what Sherlock Holmes is like, and I've gathered that he's a rude genius.

I take a few breaths as I remember how I wanted to put this. My parents just died 3 months ago in a gas leak at our house, but something felt off. Something made me feel like it wasn't an accident. My aunt, who currently has legal custody of me, doesn't have a clue about this. She's away on _another_ business trip (code for getting drunk in a different city and abandoning both her government job and me) and thought it wise to leave a twelve year old girl who wanted closure about her parents' deaths alone.

I reach for the knocker, close my eyes, and take a breath. Will he even take the case? Probably not. Before I can even knock, someone slams into me and I fall back, tumbling down the three steps. Someone walked right out the door and I didn't see them because I'd still had my eyes closed and didn't hear them over the sound of my own pulse. I am such an idiot.

A pale hand comes in front of my face, offering to help me up. I take the hand, surprisingly warm and soft, and stand up. Too quickly, because I feel unsteady again.

"Careful," the man whispers in a quiet, soft voice. I look up, and I have to admit, he is _hot_. His face is pale and his dark black hair is coated in gel and he's smiling at me and his eyes are crinkling in the corners. He is definitely way older than me, I'd say early thirties, but hot. Especially in his perfectly ironed black suit with a crisp white shirt and a plain black tie that looks pretty expensive and is, to my horror, covered in hot chocolate.

"I am so sorry, I didn't see you, I should've moved, I got my hot chocolate all over you suit, I am so, so sorry. I'll pay for the cleaning, I am so sorry," I stammer out, my eyes twice their usual size. To my surprise, the man casually waves a hand.

"It's alright, you had your eyes closed. It's my fault, I wasn't paying attention. I think I owe you another drink, though," he says with a smirk. I am suddenly super aware that my hand is still in his and I try to move it away, but he just grips it tighter. I calm myself down and stop assuming the worst.

"You don't have to do that, but thank you for offering. Besides, I need to talk to Mr. Holmes in there," I mutter. He pretends not to hear me and begins to walk toward a fancy car with tinted windows, dragging me along.

"Come on, I know a great café," he says. His accent is definitely not from London. It sounds faintly Irish and it's smooth and innocent and makes me want to trust him, despite the fact he won't let go of my hand and I have no choice in whether I go or not. I decide he won't hurt me and climb into the backseat when he motions for me to do so. He slides in next to me. Oh. He must have a chauffer. I fold my hands in my lap and try not to touch or break anything.

After a moment, he breaks the awkward silence. "Jim Moriarty," he says, extending a hand. I smile timidly. "Adalia Shonley," I reply, shaking his hand. He smiles back, but his lingers for one second too long. "I'm only twelve, you know," I whisper, not wanting him to get any ideas about me. "Yes, I know," he replies cryptically. I turn to face the window when the car stops. Someone climbs out of the passenger's seat. He even has people to get him his coffee so he can stay in his car? He must be seriously rich.

He hands me a new hot chocolate, and I take it, thanking him. I gulp the warm liquid. My arms and legs start to tingle and my eyelids droop.

"You," I murmur as the car starts to move again. I point an accusing finger at Jim Moriarty. "You put something in my drink, you sick asshole."

The last things I'm aware of before I pass out are Jim slapping me across the cheek very hard and him saying, "Don't curse, Adalia, it's not ladylike."


	2. Chapter 2

When I wake up, my head isn't pounding like it should be and I feel no fear. The only thing that hurts is my cheek where he slapped it. I sit up very calmly. I lean against a wall and look around, but there's not much to see. It's a small room that's blindingly white, except for a red spot in a corner. Looks like blood. Not even that sends prickles of fear through me. I don't see the door any where. Suddenly, the wall I'm leaning on disappears and I fall onto the floor. That's where the door is. I stand up to face the person who opened it.

"Boss wants me to get you now, reckons you slept long enough," says the man. He's blond, late thirties, and taller than me. I narrow my eyes.

"Don't I know you?" He looks very familiar. "No." The reply comes too quickly. I think and I finally place him.

"You're the guy who's been taking pictures of me for the past month." That sounded eerily calm. I'm probably high from whatever I got drugged with last night.

"Yes, I am, but how the hell did you see me? I was always well hidden," he says indignantly. I shrug my shoulders.

"Right, well my name's Sebastian, you can call me Seb."

"I'm Adalia."

"Hope so, it'd be awful if Jim took the wrong person." He smirks. Strange. His smirk drops and he gets serious again.

"Jim wants to talk to you." I scrunch my nose up at the mention of his name.

"I don't like him very much," I say in a stage whisper. "He's not very nice, but he pretends to be. Why am I here?"

"You ask too many questions."

"And you don't answer enough," I point out.

"Come on already." We walk down a lot of long hallways and finally stop in front of a door. Seb opens it, I walk in, and he closes it and leaves. I wish he'd stayed, but I can't place why.

The new room is (thankfully) larger than the last. It's dim and cozy and a fireplace crackles pleasantly on one side of the room. Two comfy but expensive looking arm chairs face each other and one is already occupied by my captor. A small wooden table with a tea tray on it separates them. Jim Moriarty is looking at me expectantly. I smile and wave.

"Please, sit down," he says, motioning towards the empty chair. I sit on it with my head on the floor and my feet on top of the back of the chair. He glowers at me.

"I'd appreciate it if you sat correctly on the chair." I can hear the impatience in his voice. I look at him.

"I'd appreciate it if I weren't here, but I've learned to appreciate what you have and not what you want." He sighs and gives me a look I think is meant to be intimidating. I tilt my head to the side.

"You should make that face more often, it's attractive." He narrows his

"Don't make me ask you again, Adalia. Sit. Properly. In. That. Chair." I roll my eyes and flip myself so I'm sitting how he wants me to. He gets boring when he repeats himself.

"Thank you," he mutters. He smiles at me, but it's the intimidating smile, not the one he showed me when he helped me up yesterday. He takes a delicate sip from his tea cup.

"Go ahead and drink some tea, Adalia." His voice is cold and dangerous, like he's daring me to decline. I never back away from dares.

"Last time I drank something you gave me, I ended up unconscious and high as a kite. I think I'll pass."

"Thank God you're high right now, I was afraid you were always like this." I raise my eyebrows.

"Was that a _joke_ , Jim? That's the first thing you've said to me that I was actually _supposed_ to laugh at." He rolls his eyes and points to the cup in front of me.

"Drink your tea."

"I don't want to."

"Drink. Your. Tea."

"No."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Some guy obsessed with making me drink tea and sit on furniture properly?" This makes him scowl.

"I'm a murderer, kidnapper, criminal, and psychopath. I suggest you drink your tea before I get mad."

"Murderer and kidnapper fall under the 'criminal' category," I point out with a smirk. He stands up, walks silently towards me, raises his hand, and slaps me across the cheek.

"Drink the tea now," he says in a sing song voice.

"I don't see why I should. You're not being very nice." I go back to sitting on the chair improperly and feel the drugs start to wear off. Fear is starting to prickle through me as I realize exactly what has just happened. I got kidnapped and drugged by this psycho, directly defied him, and gotten him mad. Oops. I right myself quickly in my chair and hastily sip some tea. I look up at him.

"Thank you. Don't know why you have to make things so damn difficult."

"Ever heard you're not supposed to curse in front of ladies," I whisper as he sits back down. Most of the courage I had earlier has faded away now.

"Drugs wore off then," he says. He looks at me thoughtfully. "I'm going to forgive you for that, just this once, because you were on drugs. You won't be so lucky next time." I look down, wondering what the consequences would've been.

"Why am I here," I ask quietly.

"You're my one and only live-in ordinary person. I chose you 'bout a month ago. That's when Seb started taking pictures of you." He gives me a sly smile that makes me shiver.

I stare at him in disbelief. "A live-in ordinary person. You make it sound like I'm your pet, like... you own me." I feel nauseous.

His smile grows. "I do own you, Adalia. I'm glad you've realized that already." I finish my tea and he calls me over to him.

"Sit on the table." He points to it and I do as he says, biting back my sarcastic remark about where his care for furniture went.

"Give me your hand." He holds his out, palm side up.

"Which one?"

"Your right one." I give it to him and he grips it firmly so the back of my hand is facing up and I can't move it. I notice the X-Acto knife in his other hand. "Don't move around a lot, and try to keep the screaming down, darling, I've got a headache." He begins to carve words in my hand and I keep my eyes closed and clench my teeth. He finishes about half an hour later, and my face is stained with tears.

"That wasn't so bad, was it," he asks gently. I shake my head as I try to wipe away most of the blood so I can read it. When I do, I throw up from the pain and my disgust at what the words say: ' _Property of Jim Moriarty'_

I look up to see him smiling. He enjoys this.

"Come, I'll show you where you're sleeping."

"I'm not sleeping in that room?"

"No, darling, you're going to be her for a while, so you get a bed." I grimace at the pet name. We head towards a bedroom with a large bed. Too large for just one person... Sick bastard, I think before I ask to confirm it.

"Um, Jim, um, how- how many bedrooms do, um, do you h-have here?" He looks impressed that I'm not a total idiot.

"One." He smirks. All hope is not lost.

"How many beds are there?"

"One." Slightly less hope.

"Do you sleep in here?"

"Yep." Oh gosh.

"Do I sleep in here?"

"Yep." No, no, no, no. Why can't he say no?

"Do we both have to sleep on the bed?"

"Yep." I let out a shaky breath.

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-four. Why?" He knows exactly why.

"I'm twelve. Twelve, okay? I swear, if you even try to put your hands on me,

"You'll what?" I've just made a terrible mistake. I just tried to threaten him. I got things carved into my hand for being sarcastic and declining tea while I was drugged. Who knows what'll happen for this?

Damage control. Backtrack. Stay calm. Okay. "I'm sorry, Jim, I really am, I forgot who I was talking to, please don't hurt me, please, I promise I'll never do that again, I'm sorry, please don't hurt me, please." He looks unamused but rather calm. Is that good? I brace myself for anything he might do with me pinned against the wall, so fragile and weak and vulnerable. He slaps me across my cheek and punches me in the face a few times. He punches me in the stomach until I can barely breathe. I'm sliding down the wall, hardly able to stand anymore, and he yanks me back up by pulling me hair so I'm at eye level with him.

"Don't try to threaten me, darling, it doesn't work," he whispers, his voice low and threatening in my ear. He drops my hair and I fall to the floor, silently sobbing as he walks away.

He turns back. "Adalia, I wasn't going to do anything anyways. I just like to watch you squirm. I'm cruel, but not cruel enough to do that, especially when you just got here." He slams the bathroom door to get changed and comes back out in pajamas, a noticeable change from his usual suit. He walks to my trembling figure on the ground and crouches next to me.

"Darling, I need you to get up now," he whispers gently, his voice full of genuine concern. I'm not willing to test how genuine it is, so I climb up and follow him. He leads me to the bathroom and cleans my hand, wrapping gauze around it.

"Thanks," I mumble. I bite my lip. I want to be alone and cry, but how well would he react to that? He's not just going to leave me alone. I guess I'll have to ask.

"Can- can I have a moment alone, please?" Will he understand? Does he have feelings? He looks at me, a calculating gaze, as though he's trying to read my every thought.

"You're going to cry, right?" What do I say? Yes will make him mad. I shake my head once.

"No need to lie to me, darling." I nod.

"So why don't you just cry right now?" He knows exactly why I'm not, I can see it on his face.

"I'm afraid," I finally say slowly.

"Of what?"

"You." This is starting to sound like a conversation from a romance novel. All I can feel is anger and disgust, though, so at least I don't have Stockholm Syndrome.

"Good." He walks away, I let out a sob, and then I follow him. He climbs on the bed and I do the same, staying as far away from him as possible. At least he doesn't move any closer to me.

Read and review, please! Constructive criticism or any criticism in general is welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Things continue like this for a week. I'll do something Jim doesn't like, Jim will hurt me, and then he'll forget about it. He spends a lot of time in his office, a place I am forbidden to even go near, working on things. I asked him what his job was on the second day. He told me that he was a consulting criminal and that he arranges crimes for people. I said that sounded like a shitty job. He didn't feed me that day.

On the third day, he got an important phone call from someone during the daily tea he forces me to have with him. He caught me listening in and asked what I was doing. I said I was trying to gain super-human hearing, but I was starting by listening to him talk because I wanted to try an easy target and he has such a loud mouth. He gave me a black eye and a sore stomach from it being punched repeatedly.

On the fourth day, he asked me to bring him tea in his office. I did what he told me to, and he threw the still-full cup at me and called me an idiot because I wasn't supposed to go near his office. I quickly left his office and locked myself in the bathroom crying. He found me and dragged me out to the kitchen by my hair and forced me to make him a new pot of tea. I did and he dumped it down the drain, deciding he would just get Seb to make him coffee. He made me walk around in the tea-stained clothes all day.

On the fifth day, he was... gone. He left early that morning, before I even woke up. He left me with Seb, and Seb spent the whole day trying to make me feel better. He let me eat all the junk food I wanted, gave me ice for my bruises that still hurt, and changed the gauze on my hand. We ended up watching '80s American movies on Netflix for most of the day.

Yesterday, the sixth day, he kissed me. I made him tea (not by choice) and accidentally put too much sugar in it. He'd slammed the cup down and backed me into the wall. He stood over me as I cowered in fear of what he would do next. He just laughed and pressed his lips against mine. I cried and tried to push him off, but he was stronger than me and just kept me pinned to the wall until he decided that it was enough. I ran straight to the bathroom and threw up and spent the rest of the day trying to scrub the flavor of spearmint gum out of my mouth.

Today he calls me in for our daily tea as usual. I've gotten better at sitting _properly_ in my chair and holding back sarcastic comments.

"How's work," I whisper, the memory of him kissing me as I struggled to escape playing in my mind. I know that this question won't get me any helpful answer, but it's the one he wants me to ask. He only ever gives vague answers, which is fine by me, since I don't really care.

"Good, thanks," he replies cordially. His eyes then light up with excitement. "Darling, I've got a new client. He's a cabbie, an he takes people to secluded places and talks to them until they kill themselves with a poison pill. Ad, isn't it so great?" He genuinely looks happy. I press my lips together.

"How many?"

"Four." Four lives gone because Jim got bored.

"What's he get out of it?"

"Every time someone dies, I give his children money." The ringing of his phone saves me from getting hurt because of some sarcastic comment on the tip of my tongue. He speaks quietly and I suddenly get very interested in my tea, remembering how I got my black eye.

He hangs up and looks at me. "He's got Sherlock," he says, excitement evident in his voice. I can't help but feel resentment towards Sherlock Holmes, even though this isn't his fault. But I was right outside his flat when Jim took me. Still, I hope he makes it out alive just to spite Jim.

"Darling, I have to make some calls. Sorry we have to end tea early." He stands up and brushes a kiss along my cheek and I flinch really hard. He laughs. I want to cry.

"Can I go to the library," I ask cautiously. He has a huge mansion, so there is, of course, a huge library that I've visited twice. I've asked to go five times, though, and he's denied it three. I think it's just 'cause he likes watching me go through book withdrawal. He nods distractedly as he dials a number on his phone and I eagerly jump up and leave.


	4. Chapter 4

I cautiously approach the living room, where Jim is sitting and watching TV. I creep towards the couch, close enough so he'll be able to hear me, but far enough away he can't touch me.

"Jim," I say quietly. He looks up and smiles. I've made it a point to avoid him whenever possible, but he didn't call me down or request my presence.

"Hey, darling. Finally chosen to come talk to Daddy?" His question and his voice and his accent and just everything about him makes me terrified and I can't help the tremor in my hands.

"N-No. I have a problem." The smile doesn't leave his face as he pats the bit of cushion right next to him.

"Come sit down, then. I haven't seen you a lot. You're always hiding out away from me. Must say, I'm pleasantly surprised you're down here." I just keep looking at him nervously, unwilling to sit down with him. He rolls his eyes and pats the couch again.

"Come sit down, love, I won't bite."

"No, you'll just cut and punch and kick," I mutter as I sit down on the opposite end of the couch, on the very edge so I can run if need be. He chuckles slightly and then shakes his head.

"Now, this just won't do. Come closer, darling, no need to look so afraid. Tell Daddy what's wrong."

"Don't call yourself Daddy. My father is dead. You are not, nor will you ever be, him. Don't taint my memories of him," I say in a strong voice. I don't regret saying it, and it's definitely worth whatever he'll do because of it. To my surprise, he nods.

"Very sorry, love, wasn't trying to ruin your memories of your father. Come sit closer to me, though, you're so far away."

"I know I am, that was the point."

"Come sit closer to me." His voice is kind, but I hear the silent threat behind his words. I scoot a tiny bit closer. He sighs dramatically and wraps his arms around my middle. I start trembling at the contact, but he just picks me up and places me on his lap. I clench my jaw shut as all of my muscles tense. If he notices, he doesn't say anything. He wraps his arms around me, pressing me up against his chest and effectively immobilizing my arms so I can't get away. He places his chin on my shoulder and when he talks, it's in a low, hushed tone.

"Now, darling, what was that problem? Come on, tell me and dear Jim will fix it for you." I take a few breaths until I find my voice again.

"I'm bored." He laughs softly as he presses a kiss to the back of my head, which makes me flinch.

"Go find something to do, then."

"But I've already done everything there is to do."

"Everything? I find that hard to believe."

"But I did. I cleaned the entire mansion, I marathoned Doctor Who, I read all of the books in the library, I learned German, I can now play the piano, and I even beat Seb in poker."

"You learned German?"

"Yes. It was really easy, it only took me a few hours."

"You learned German? In a few hours?"

"Yes."

"Du schaust atemberaubend in Jogginghose."

"Don't be ridiculous, no one looks good in sweatpants."

"Impressive. And... You beat Seb in poker?"

"Yep."

"Sebastian?"

"Yes."

"Sebastian Moran? Are we talking about the same person here?"

"Yes."

"But no one beats Seb in poker." I shrug.

"I did."

"No one beats Seb in poker. No one ever has. Ever. What, have you been playing since you were an infant?"

"No, I just learned how yesterday."

"You just learned how to play poker and you beat Seb? What, did you sell your soul to the devil or something?"

"Don't be silly, I'd never sell you my soul. It's the only thing keeping you from owning me completely."

"Is that what you think of me? You think I'm the devil?"

"No, I know you're the devil."

"I'm not the devil, love."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"See, I've always thought that the devil would take the shape of your worst fear. My worst fear is being trapped and unable to do anything about it. I am trapped here. You have me trapped. There is nothing I can do about it. This is my worst fear. You are my worst fear personified, you are the devil."

"You're not trapped." I look down at his arms, which are still keeping mine from moving, and he follows my gaze. He lets go and I stand up, happy that I'm freed from his grasp. I don't like it when he touches me.

"Alright, what should we do about your boredom then? Hmm... I could teach you how to turn people into shoes."

"Um... I-I think I'll pass on that one." I know he's totally serious and would show me how to turn human skin into shoes, which I don't want to see.

"I get it, murder in creative ways isn't for everyone. Alright, I have an idea, go put your shoes on." I don't move. I want to know what his idea is before I willingly go with him. He rolls his eyes at my stubbornness.

"Grocery shopping, darling, that's all." I walk away to get my shoes, resenting the idea of spending time with Jim. When I come back down to the living room in jeans and a t-shirt, Jim calls me over to him.

"Come here, darling." I stay frozen. Whenever he asks me to go over to him, he always hurts me.

"I won't hurt you, I just have something for you. Come here." I start trembling. Sure, I've been sarcastic with him before, and sure, I've insulted him, but he still terrifies me. I'm terrified he's going to kill me every time he talks to me.

"Adalia, love, come here. No need to look so terrified. It's alright, come here." Reluctantly and hesitantly, I walk over to him, though my movements are stiff and robotic. He smiles as he puts his hands on my shoulders. I flinch hard and he shakes his head.

"Didn't I tell you I wouldn't hurt you, sweetie?" He turns me around and then wraps something around my neck. For a wild moment, I think he's strangling me, but I can still breathe. He lets go and I feel something fitted snugly around my neck.

"Go look in the mirror." I walk to the bathroom and look at the mirror over the sink and feel a wild rage burning underneath my skin. A collar. The bastard put a fucking collar on me. A fucking pink dog collar, complete with a name tag and everything. And what does the name tag say? 'Darling'. I clench my hands into fists and try to calm myself. Getting mad at him will not help. If I get mad at him, he will get mad at me, and I will regret opening my big, fat mouth. I take a steadying breath and brush away the angry tears rolling down my cheeks. I walk calmly back to the living room. He smiles at me. I look back at him passively.

"Get it? Because you're my little pet." He looks extremely pleased with himself. All I feel is burning anger.

"Oh, don't tell me you're mad at me now. It was just a joke, love. Are you ready?"

"Yes," I say quietly. Jim nods happily.

"SEB," he shouts loudly, making me flinch. Seb comes in and raises an eyebrow at me, probably because of the fucking dog collar wrapped around my neck. I glare back at him and any comments he might've been about to make are left unsaid.

"Yeah, boss?"

"We're going grocery shopping. Come on."

"You never go grocery shopping."

"Adalia's bored. Apparently making shoes from our enemies is out of the question, so we're going grocery shopping."

"How do you go from making shoes from people to grocery shopping?"

"Nothing better to do."

"Really? Nothing at all?"

"Adalia learned how to play the piano, speak fluent German, and play poker quiet well all in one day. She also read the last of the books in the library, marathoned Doctor Who, and cleaned the entire mansion. I really can't think of anything else. Also, it's her birthday and she deserves something at least semi-normal on her birthday, don't you agree?" I bite my lip. I was seriously hoping he wouldn't find out it was my birthday. I don't want to celebrate it with him.

"Happy birthday, Ad. My present to you is that I'm taking off that ridiculous dog collar Jim is forcing you to wear and I'm going to throw it out. C'mere." I happily start to skip over to Seb, but Jim grabs my arm and leans in very close to me.

"Leave. It. On." I freeze and my eyes go wide. He notices and pats my cheek.

"No need to look terrified. Goodness, how many times are you going to make me tell you that? I just want you to leave it on." I glance over at Seb, who looks back at me sympathetically.

"Jim, she can take it off. It's not right what you're doing to her, last thing she needs is a physical reminder of it."

"Seb, shut up. If I want her to wear it, she'll wear it. Simple as that. D'you know why? Because I OWN YOU," he shouts, totally calm until he screams that last part at me. I flinch and cringe away, but he still doesn't loosen his grip on my arm. I try to wriggle away and he slaps me.

"Dammit, Adalia, you need to learn to be more obedient. If I want you to do something, you do it without a second thought. If I tell you not to do something, you don't even think about doing it. If I'm trying to get you to stay still, you don't try to get your arm out of my grip. Because I don't like disobedient pets. I could have you put down in an instant. Do you understand?" I nod fearfully, looking down at the floor. He roughly grabs my jaw and yanks my head up so I'm forced to look at him.

"If I'm talking to you, you look at me. If I ask you a question, you use your words like a big girl. I said, do you understand?" I open my mouth and try to answer him, but he's cutting off my air flow. I gasp for air, trying to draw in enough breath to say yes. He smirks cruelly at me.

"You're not answering," he tells me in a sing-song voice. I try to pry his hand off of my throat, but he's holding my throat too tightly and I was never as strong as him anyways. My vision goes black around the edges and he releases me. I gasp in a mouthfuls of air until I can talk again.

"Yes," I croak out. He smiles.

"Getting to be obedient, I see. Good girl. As a reward, Daddy's going to take that nasty old collar off of you." He looks at me like he's expecting me to say something. It hits me.

"Th-thank you."

"It's no problem, darling." He takes it off and tosses it to Seb.

"What d'you want me to do with this?"

"Throw it out, burn it, turn it into a weapon, chuck it at that old lady who's always knitting, I don't really care. Just get rid of it." Seb nods and tosses it over his shoulder. It hits a painting that Seb informed me was priceless and Jim had gotten as his thirtieth birthday present from Seb. I rub my throat, knowing it'll be sore and bruised for a while. Jim sees this and pretends to pout.

"Poor you, nearly getting strangled to death on your birthday. You should apologize to me for not being obedient." I don't want to say sorry. I didn't do anything wrong.

"S-Sorry." He frowns and backs me up against the wall.

"No, no, no. You have to say sorry, Daddy." I just stare at him, wide-eyed. He brings a hand up to my cheek and strokes it adoringly. I shiver and force myself not to push him off of me. That would be disastrous.

"Go on. Say it. For me." I shake my head and his hand is suddenly on my throat, not squeezing, but the threat is still there.

"Say it." I look at him for a long time before I make a decision.

"Sorry, Jim." I spit out his name defiantly. He squeezes his hand around my throat, and, other than the involuntary gasping, I show no signs of fear. I try to laugh at him, but I don't have enough air left, so I settle for smiling smugly.

"Thought... you didn't... get your... hands... dirty," I manage to gasp out. He puts a hand on my cheek as he slowly squeezes the life out of me.

"There's an exception to everything." When Seb realizes Jim seriously isn't going to stop strangling me anytime soon, he lunges at Jim and manages to pry his hands off of me. I collapse to the ground, still smiling smugly as I gasp for air. Jim is fuming and Seb is trying to calm him down. I rub my burning throat as I realize I just narrowly escaped death. And then I realize I wish he'd killed me. I try not to let this show on my face as Jim walks over and spits on me.

"You can forget about going out. You're going to stay here all day. And guess what? You can spend it with me now. That's your punishment for not being obedient. Let's go, stand up." When I don't stand up as quickly as he'd like, he kicks me in the ribs, which gets rid of any breath that might've been left in my lungs. I collapse again, coughing and trying to get my breath. Jim picks me up and then throws me across the room. I hit my head on the wall and everything goes fuzzy. I can still hear, but it sounds distant and far away. I grab my aching head and try to push myself to my feet. Seb helps me up and then Jim strolls over to me, a sinister smile overtaking his features.

"If you say it, I won't make you spend the rest of the day with me," he sing songs. I shudder.

"I'm not saying it." He shrugs and puts his hand on my shoulder, leading me back to the living room. He sits down on the couch and pulls me down to sit next to him. I tense up when he makes me curl up next to him, wrapping his arm around me and making me put my head on his chest.

"Jim, please stop touching me, you're making me uncomfortable," I manage to whisper, though my voice is raspy and it hurts to speak.

"No," he says simply and I know that arguing is pointless. He switches the TV back on and scrolls through the channels.

"What do you want to watch, darling? Hmm, what's your favorite Disney movie?"

"Beauty and the Beast," I reply instantly, then cringe. Not exactly what I want to be watching here and now. Beauty and the Beast, the story of a girl who gets kidnapped and falls in love with her kidnapper. Jim notices the way my face turns to one of disgust and his mouth curls into a malicious smile.

"Oh? Isn't that the one where the beautiful little bookworm falls in love with the monster who kidnapped her? Are you suggesting something about your feelings towards me?"

"No."

"Really? Because that's what it sounds like. You, a gorgeous little bookworm, and me, a monster. I kidnapped you. Are you in love with me, darling?"

"I hate you with a burning passion," I reply, though it hurts a lot.

"Alright, alright. How about Frozen? Would you like to watch Frozen? We're watching Frozen." He switches the movie on and I try to forget where I am and who's holding me, but he makes it harder by massaging my throat the whole time.

"Sing a song for me," he demands, putting the movie on pause. I turn to look at him with shock, confusion, and fear. This is something I can't do, and he knows it. He looks at me expectantly.

"Go on, sing for me."

"I can't," I manage to rasp out.

"Why not?"

"I can barely talk."

"But I want to hear you sing, darling." I take a deep breath and think this over. I know I won't be able to talk my way out of this.

"What do you want me to sing?"

"Dunno. You pick." Trembling from fear of what will happen if I get this wrong, I open my mouth and draw in a shaky breath.

" _So wake me up when it's all over,_

 _When I'm-_ " My throat starts burning and I erupt into a coughing fit. Jim pats my head.

"Good girl. So obedient. All I have to do is nearly kill you, and you're willing to do what I want. Don't die on me, I'm not done with you yet." I manage to stop coughing and he turns the movie back on, resuming rubbing my throat. I grit my teeth and let him, though this is definitely not what I wanted when I came out here to tell him I was bored.

A/N: In case anyone who might be reading this was wondering, the sentence Jim said to Adalia in German translates to 'You look stunning in sweatpants'.


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up on Christmas morning. There's snow falling gently outside, and the light reflecting off the snow blinds me as I look through the curtains. It's four AM, way earlier than I usually get up, but old habits are hard to break, so I still got excited over Christmas, even though I have to spend it with Jim the Psycho.

Jim is still asleep next to me, because his alarm won't go off for another three hours. I debate it for a few moments before I gently poke him on the back. He grabs my wrist and twists it, apparently not realizing it's me. I whimper softly, trying not to scream.

"Jim, please let go of my wrist, you're hurting me," I whisper and he releases my hand. I back away from him. He squints at the clock then at me.

"Darling, not that I don't love you waking me up, but what the hell? I still have three hours before I have to get up," he says groggily. I nervously bite my lip.

"Sorry, Jim, but it's Christmas."

"Why, has someone been murdered?"

"No, Jim, it's literally Christmas. As in, December twenty- fifth." He groans into his pillow.

"I hate Christmas. All the people singing, and the happiness, and no murders because Sebby banned me from killing anyone today. If I'm miserable today, then it's not your fault, darling." I nod and bring my knees up to my chest, resting my head on them before sobbing quietly. It's my first Christmas without my parents rushing around to put the finishing touches on everything, my little sister Jamie waking me up at three AM, the wrapping paper fights we have after we finish unwrapping all of our gifts. This was going to be hard enough, but now I have to spend all day trying to look happy so Jim doesn't hurt me for having feelings.

I feel a warm hand rubbing circles on my back and I tense. I definitely don't want to be comforted by Jim. He notices this and drops his hand away before scooting along the bed so we can see each other. He puts one finger under my chin and tilts my head up, brushing my tears away with his other hand.

"What's wrong, darling? You told me before that you love Christmas, and now you're crying. Did I do something wrong?" I take a few breaths before I find my voice.

"No, Jim. It's just... I have to spend Christmas without my family this year." He looks thoughtfully at me for a moment.

"I could let you call them, I guess. Just one phone call, though, you can't go back or anything, and I can't let you visit them." I sniffle and smile sadly.

"That's very thoughtful of you, thank you, but I have to visit them."

"You still can't, but tell me why."

"My family is dead, Jim. All except my aunt, but I honestly think she would thank you for taking me off her hands. So, if it's okay, I'd like to visit them in the cemetery." Jim stares at me, lips parted in shock, eyebrows raised, big brown eyes showing sympathy (? When did Jim get emotions?).

"Oh my gosh, Adalia, I am so sorry, I didn't know. That is awful. Of course we can go, just not this early, okay? I promise you that I will take you. If you don't mind me asking, how did they die?" I swallow. I do mind, but Jim is in a good mood and I don't want to spoil it.

"In... In a gas leak. I was coming home from... school and... I stopped to buy some crisps from the corner store, I was gonna share them... share them with Jamie. I got back... and I was on the other side of the street when... it happened. There was just a really loud noise... and then there was a huge fire, so... even if they survived the explosion... the fire would've killed them. I didn't even know what was happening for the longest while. I just stood there... Stood there and watched my family slowly die after one of the neighbors called the fire department. And I remember thinking that... thinking that it was so pretty. That the flames that killed my family were gorgeous, even if I hated them," I choke out. He wraps his arms around me.

"Adalia, that is so awful and I am so sorry." I sigh.

"Please don't be, Jim. I'm tired of people being sorry for something they had no control over." He releases me from his hug when Seb walks in. He smiles, obviously not noticing the tears on my face and the way Jim keeps looking at me with pity and... guilt?

"Hey Jim, hey Ad, Merry Christmas to the both of you. I just came from the living room, Father Christmas left gifts for the both of you, you both made it on the nice list this year, I think," Seb says, not looking quite sure if that's the right thing to say. He obviously doesn't know I know he's not real. I chuckle softly when he grimaces as he thinks about his words again.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Seb. I know Father Christmas isn't real, by the way, but thanks for trying. Also, I don't think Jim would make it on the nice list." Seb grins and Jim playfully bumps my shoulder.

"Neither would you." I grin back, trying to ignore the lump in my throat. Mum and Dad didn't know that I knew Father Christmas isn't real, but I always pretended because it made them happy and Jamie didn't know. Jim sees the tears welling up in my eyes and hugs me again, holding me close and stroking my hair soothingly.

"It's alright, darling, everything's going to be okay, it's going to be fine, everything's going to be fine," he murmurs in my ear. Seb looks very concerned, and I can't blame him. I try not to cry unless Jim is physically hurting me very badly, and I doubt Jim tries to make a habit out of comforting people. The bed dips down as Seb sits next to me.

"Ad, what's wrong? Is it something I said?" I shake my head softly.

"I miss my family and I want to spend Christmas with them, but I can't. I can't even talk to them."

"I'm sure Jim will let you call them to say Merry Christmas-"

"Sorry, forgot to mention that they're dead." Seb's face softens. I stop him before he can say anything.

"Just please don't. I don't want to think about it anymore. Please," I whisper and Seb and Jim nod together. Jim suddenly jumps up off the bed.

"I am making it my personal mission to make sure you have the best Christmas ever this year. So let's go. Gifts. Living room. Now would be good, Sebby the slowpoke," Jim says, full of energy. Seb stands up, but I just look up at him disbelievingly. He rolls his eyes and scoops me up, running down the stairs with me in his arms. I laugh and shout the whole way to the living room, where Jim sets me down, smiling triumphantly when he notices I've stopped crying.

"Okay, darling, I got you a few gifts," Jim says, motioning towards the enormous pile of gifts laying near the small Christmas tree I insisted we set up. I raise my eyebrows.

"A few?" He smiles sheepishly.

"I may have gone overboard, but I already knew you would be upset because you have to spend Christmas with me this year. Hopefully this will cheer you up."

"Thanks, Jim. You have to open your gifts first."

"You got me presents?"

"I did. I am the master of online shopping and pickpocketing your credit card while you sleep." I pull a blue card out of the pocket of my pajama pants and hold it towards him. He takes it back.

"I'm very proud of you, darling. I'll make a mini criminal out of you someday. Petty theft is a great way to start."

"I didn't steal it, I was just borrowing it," I say, the thought of being anything like Jim making me sick.

"Suuuuuuuure." I roll my eyes at him.

"Just open your gifts." He walks cautiously over to his small pile of presents and picks one up. He shoots me a questioning glance.

"When was the last time the two of you celebrated Christmas?"

"Twelve years ago," Seb answers.

"Geez, that's a long time. Explains why both of you are being so awkward right now. Okay, Jim, you're supposed to open your gifts. They don't just magically open if you stare at them long enough." He slowly pulls back the wrapping paper to reveal a pile of coal sitting on the pretty red paper. Jim looks up at me in confusion.

"Thank you?" I cackle evilly.

"Oh I was hoping you'd open that one first. Don't worry, they're not all like that."

"I don't get it, it's just a pile of coal." I sigh. Jim must've had an awful childhood if he doesn't have any idea why I gave him coal for Christmas.

"It's a story that parents tell their children so they'll behave. If you're naughty all year, then Father Christmas will give you coal instead of presents on Christmas." Jim tilts his head to the side.

"Are you implying that I've been naughty all year?"

"Yes, I am. Killing people and kidnapping little girls and forcing them to live with you is not being good. However, I also got you real gifts because I am not as cruel as you. So just open them already, because you're moving so slow it's painful." We spend the rest of the morning thanking each other for our gifts. I got Jim hair gel and ties and a new pair of shoes, and Seb a new gun and a phone case that matches his favorite rifle and a copy of 'Pride and Prejudice', because he's really just a big softie who likes reading about romance. Seb got me at least fifty books, which I'll probably have done by the end of January. Jim obviously has no idea what girls my age like, because he got me My Little Pony dolls and a baby-proofed version of a make up kit. Fortunately, he also got me paints and sketchbooks and a pottery set, and a whole new set of notebooks and pens, because he knows I love to write.

After we finish opening our presents, we sit down on the couch together, Seb putting on Doctor Who and Jim groaning, because 'who wants to watch a show about some stupid space alien who lives inside a little blue box?' I go to the kitchen and make three mugs of hot chocolate, trying not to think about last year's Christmas. I head back to the living room and set the mugs down on the table, curling up at the end of the couch and watching the show through my tears, slowly sipping my hot chocolate. Jim sees this and wraps an arm around me, silently trying to make me feel better. I rest my head against his chest, wishing that my dad was here instead of Jim. If someone had told me last year that I would be crying because my family was dead on Christmas and that the person I turned to for comfort was a psycho who'd kidnapped me and hurt me countless times while a sniper who also lived with us watched Doctor Who, I would've told them that they were insane and ask if they'd escaped from a mental hospital. Then again, crazy things happen when Jim Moriarty kidnaps you, I guess.

"Darling," Jim says cautiously, shaking me awake on the couch. I blink a few times and see Jim in a t- shirt and jeans, his hair still slicked back, though.

"Darling, we should leave soon if we're going to see your parents before it gets too dark out." I nod before sitting up slowly.

"What the hell are you wearing, Jim?"

"Please watch your language."

"Sorry."

"I'm wearing a t-shirt and jeans, I thought that was pretty obvious."

"It is, but why?"

"I didn't want to wear my suits and get recognized by someone, possibly someone who may try to kill me."

"Okay. I'll be right back." I dart upstairs and search around for my favorite jumper and jeans, slipping them on along with a pair of boots. I go down the stairs and find Jim waiting for me with my coat and scarf. I slip them on and he slips on his own coat before we head out. We climb into the car and Seb starts to drive. I hum under my breath the song my mom always got me to sing to her on Christmas morning.

When we get to the cemetery, I pause before getting out of the car. Jim and Seb follow close behind me until we arrive at their graves, and I stop a few feet before we get there. Standing there, crying, is my aunt. I hear parts of what she's saying.

"So sorry... Should have been watching her better... My fault she's gone... Could be dead right now... Forgive me... I promised I'd take care of her... Failed miserably." She stops then and starts crying hysterically.

"Who's standing in front of your parents' graves and crying, darling," Jim whispers in my ear.

"My aunt Clara. I didn't know she cared about me that much." I hesitate.

"Jim, do you think I can say hi to her and let her know I'm not dead?"

"I guess so, but I'm coming with you. Don't tell her anything that could lead to you being rescued. Don't tell her where the mansion is located or why I took you."

"Thank you," I say, running off towards Aunt Clara.

"Aunt Clara," I breathe. She stops crying for a moment and envelops me in a hug.

"Adalia! Oh my God, where have you been?"

"I was kidnapped," I say as Jim and Seb walk up behind me.

"Did you escape," she asks, obviously not seeing them.

"No, Aunt Clara, I didn't. He took me here, though, so I could see my family on Christmas."

"Who is he? Who took you?" I turn around to look at Jim. He steps forward and grins, trying to charm my aunt.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" Aunt Clara looks at him in horror and disgust.

"Jim, please don't. Please. It's Christmas. Aunt Clara and Mum were so close, she's been so depressed ever since she died. Please, Jim, not here and not now," I whisper. He runs his hand through my hair.

"Alright, darling." I shudder as he places his hand on my cheek lightly.

"Don't you touch her, don't you dare touch her," Aunt Clara says angrily, pulling me back towards her. Jim's face hardens.

"Aunt Clara, let me go. Please just let me go."

"Lia, you don't want to go with him, do you?"

"No, I don't, but I don't want him to hurt you." She sneers.

"Please, what could someone like him do to me?"

"Aunt Clara, stop it. You know exactly who he is and what he's done and what he's capable of doing. Stop it before you get hurt."

"Alright, but he's not so powerful without his snipers." I sigh and gesture towards Seb.

"Aunt Clara, meet Sebastian Moran, world's best sniper." Seb smiles.

"Aw, Ad, you're so kind."

"Seb, do you really think now is the best time for that?" He shakes his head guiltily. Jim wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me towards him.

"I don't like your Aunt Clara very much," he says in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. I look up at him.

"You kidnapped me, Jim. I don't think she likes you very much, either." Jim pouts.

"You're hurting my feelings, darling."

"What feelings? I thought you told me that feelings are beneath you, and they're for the ordinary people to have." Jim shrugs.

"Still wasn't nice of you to say."

"You haven't been very nice to me before. But I'm sorry I hurt your imaginary feelings, and I do hope you can forgive me for speaking the truth." Jim rolls his eyes at me.

"When haven't I been nice to you?" I pretend to think for a minute.

"Hmmm, what about last Friday when you threatened to stab me through the throat because I tripped down the stairs and left scuff marks on the steps? Or when you put this on my hand because I declined tea after you drugged me? Or three weeks ago when you cut my arm up for saying that I hated you and wanted you to let me go?" Jim winces.

"Alright, a few times. But I said sorry after." Aunt Clara is looking at Jim with a deep hatred on her face, probably because she's just heard what's been happening for the past two months.

"Lia, I am so sorry. It's all my fault. This, it's my fault. Forgive me."

"It's not your fault, Ms. Delenar. It's mine. Stop blaming yourself and get on with your life. You'll probably never see Adalia again, so I'll let you say your goodbyes," Jim says, pushing me forward and then pretending to be mourning someone with Seb a few graves over. I hug Aunt Clara tightly.

"Goodbye," I whisper.

"Has he hurt you too badly," she asks quietly.

"No."

"What did he do to your hand?" I shake my head.

"Aunt Clara, please do something for me. This is really important, okay?"

"I'm listening."

"I want you to forget about me. Forget I even existed. I think I'm going to end up having to live with him for the rest of my life, however long that is. There's nothing you can do to save me, so forget about me and enjoy your life." She nods, and I push her away, back in the direction of the exit. Jim and Seb come back over to me. I turn to the grave and my eyes tear up.

"Hi guys. I, uh, don't know if you can hear me or not, but, if you can, Merry Christmas. I miss you guys. A lot. Um, a lot has changed since you guys left. Like, now I'm living with Jim Moriarty and my best friend is a sniper. Don't be angry with me, because it's not my fault. It was either live with Jim and be alone and sad and probably die way before this, or live with Jim and be friends with Seb and have someone to talk to and keep my sanity. Um, I really miss you guys. Please, come back. I know it's silly and impossible, but please come back. And I'm so sorry, Jamie. So sorry you died instead of me. Merry Christmas to all of you, and rest in peace." I lay down three roses on the dirt before turning away. Jim scoops me up and takes me back to the car. I cry the whole way home.

(Sorry if the format is messed up. My computer is having issues.) And here we see a bit of nice Jim, and a fluffy-ish Christmas between the three. This chapter was fun to write, except for Aunt Clara. I don't like Aunt Clara, but Adalia will always still love her, no matter what she did while she was grieving, so I had to write in a little reunion chapter. Aunt Clara is actually going to become a signifcant character... *evil laugh* Please read and, see that little button right there? It lets you leave a review, which makes me update faster.

(Seriously, though, I'm going to try to update this more for you guys. Possibly even a second chapter today!)


	6. Chapter 6

It's been six months now. Jim has stopped punching and kicking me as often, but instead kisses and slaps me. I still have a fear that he's going to shoot me through the head, so I stay quiet and do what he tells me to do. He's gotten all excited over one of his 'distractions' as he calls them, where he straps bombs to people and then gives Sherlock puzzles he has to solve in order for them to live. He's included me in on everything because he is 'in need of his darling's assistance'.

Right now, I'm in the library, reading to escape this (beautifully decorated) hell. He walks silently towards me and I pretend not to see him. He angrily snatches the book from my hands and throws it on the table, causing me to jump and fear for my safety when I see the look in his eyes. I prepare for yet another violent outburst.

"Darling, don't pretend you can't see me, you know how angry it makes me." He puts my face in his hand, but doesn't squeeze my chin tightly or slap my cheek like I expected.

"Sorry," I reply quickly and quietly. He makes a disbelieving noise and roughly pulls me to my feet by my arm.

"Get dressed, we're leaving." His face is very close to mine and his voice is low and dangerous.

"Leaving?" Is he serious? I've been in this place for six months now, and not once have I gone outside in that time.

"I'll explain in the car. Be quick, Molly's expecting us." I go to get dressed, wondering who Molly is and where we're going.

"So you are going to be Adalia Brook, my daughter. Your mother left when you were three weeks old. We have a very good relationship. Feel free to make as many sarcastic comments as possible. You don't know I'm gay, and you will get extremely offended if anyone implies or suggests that I am. I think that covers everything. Questions," Jim explains then asks in the car. We're on our way to St. Bart's to meet Sherlock, John, and Molly, Jim's 'girlfriend' he's using to get closer to Sherlock. I really don't want to do this, but I really don't have a choice. I think everything over.

"What do I do if anyone asks about this," I ask, pointing to the gauze on my hand covering the scars he gave me. He thinks it over for a moment.

"Shove your hand in your pocket and mumble something about getting cut while gardening." I guess that makes some sense. Jim leans close, very close, and I can smell cheap cologne invade my nostrils.

"Say one thing, make one movement to show you're not actually my daughter, and there will be nasty consequences for you. Same thing if you try to run." I nod in fearful understanding and the car stops. We both climb out and he rushes to grab my wrist, like I would actually run. Sure, I would take the opportunity if it arose, but I know Seb can outrun me and so would easily catch me, and then who knows what Jim would do to me? It's better to just go along with him and try not to get hurt.

We go through a few hallways to the labs where we know that Sherlock, John, and Molly will be, and I feel really bad for this poor girl. She's being manipulated and probably actually loves him.

Jim awkwardly pokes his head through the door. "Oh, sorry, I didn't..." he sees Sherlock and John and tries to back out of the room as if it was Molly he came here to see, not Sherlock. Molly obviously wants him to meet them, and so grabs his hand and pulls him into the room. I have to admit, he's a very good actor, and he's playing the part of nervous computer geek pretty well. The door slams shut in my face and I realize they must've locked it because I can't get it open again. I knock lightly on the glass. No one seems to hear it, and they continue making their introductions. I would try to run, but Seb would actually shoot me. I sigh and try again. The only person who seems to have noticed the thirteen year old girl standing in the hallway is John. He gets up from his stool and opens the door.

"Thanks," I say with a grateful smile as I step into the room. Everyone turns to face me and I shoot Jim a glare.

"Sorry to interrupt. I came here with my dad, but he didn't bother to hold the door open, and so I got locked out. I'm Adalia. Nice to meet all of you." John stands up and shakes my hand.

"John Watson." I nod and play the part of excited fangirl.

"I know, I read your blog. It's really great, you know that?" He chuckles a little.

"Thank you," he says with a glance at Sherlock. I deduce that Sherlock said his blog was awful and John is trying to prove someone thinks it's good. I turn to Molly and she smiles awkwardly and waves. I return the smile and wave, just as nervously, but for a different reason. She's nervous because this is her boyfriend's daughter, and I'm nervous because saying the wrong thing means torture.

"I'm Molly Hooper. I'm Jim's- erm, your dad's girlfriend. Um, it's great to meet you." I smile wider, though it's still a nervous one.

"I'm Adalia. It's nice to meet you too." I lean closer and say in a stage whisper, "Dad hasn't stopped talking about you. He's totally in love. I'm happy for you two." She blushes very hard and Jim gives me an approving smile. There's a sour taste in my mouth from calling Jim 'Dad'. Jim wraps an arm around my shoulder and I flinch slightly. I look over to the only person in the room who hasn't spoken yet: Sherlock Holmes. He seems very absorbed in the microscope in front of him. He didn't even talk when Jim came in and I was stuck observing through the window. The other three people follow my gaze and John sighs and nudges him on the shoulder.

"Sherlock, you're being rude again." He looks up, glance at Jim and I, and turns back to the microscope. He still doesn't say anything and Jim fills in the silence.

"So, you on one of your cases," he asks casually, walking towards the table with a pair of trainers and lab equipment on it.

"Gay," he mumbles. Everyone freezes, and I remember that Jim told me Adalia Brooke would be very offended if anyone suggested that he was gay.

"Dad's not gay." He looks up at me and then looks back down at his microscope.

"Abused." I freeze now, and all of the color rushes out of my face. My chest tightens, and it feels like someone's resting a boulder on it. My breathing gets shaky, and I'm trembling. What answer will not get me hurt?

"What," I ask quietly, a sharp edge to my voice that makes everyone's heads snap up to me. All of their expressions are different: Jim's is a warning one, telling me to watch what I say; Molly's is one of pity, probably because Sherlock made such a rude deduction; John's is anger, directed towards Sherlock; and Sherlock's is one of annoyance, directed at me for being so stupid when he just clearly stated it. I'm sure mine is one of pure horror, fear of what is going to happen.

"Don't be so stupid, Adalia. It's obvious you're abused. You heard me perfectly," he says with a sneer. Molly rushes over to me and hugs me.

"It's alright, Adalia. Sherlock is just being a bit rude. Come along, we'll go downstairs to the cafeteria and get you something to eat, okay?" I look back at Jim and he comes over to hug me, too.

"You can go with Molly, but I want you to deny everything. Go ahead, darling," he murmurs into my ear while he hugs me. I walk away with Molly and we sit down in the deserted cafeteria.

"What he said... Is it true? Are you really abused," she asks quietly. I shake my head.

"Thank you for getting me out of there. Things were getting kind of awkward." She smiles a little, and then her grin fades.

"Your dad- if you don't mind me asking- is he really gay?" I shrug.

"I don't think so. He's gone out with women before, so I don't think he's gay." She nods.

"Um, Molly, I'd like to go back up now. I want to tell Sherlock something." We head back upstairs and back into the labs, where Jim is on a phone call- probably Seb, since he's laughing. John and Sherlock are arguing, mostly John scolding Sherlock and Sherlock ignoring him. Jim ends the call and John stops scolding Sherlock when they see me walk back in with Molly. Jim grabs my hand and looks as though he's going to say his goodbyes, but I shake my head at him with a pleading expression. He gets the message and drops my hand with a raised eyebrow.

I walk across the room to where Sherlock is. I wait for him to look up. He doesn't. What I'm about to do isn't my fault, then. I raise my hand and slap him across the face. He deserves it. From both Adalia Brook (for calling her dad gay and suggesting that he abuses her) and Adalia Shonley (for putting me in danger (he's a genius. Shouldn't he know that saying that could get me hurt even more?)). Everyone looks at me in shock now- especially Sherlock.

"Did you just slap me?"

"Yeah, and I'll do it again, too, because you're an-" I'm interrupted by Jim's hand on my shoulder and him pulling me back. I look up at him and I can't read his expression. I decide it's time to cool down my act before I get myself in even more trouble.

"Sorry, she shouldn't've done that," Jim says. Sherlock shakes his head and smiles at me.

"No, it's alright. I think I owe you an apology, Adalia. That was an awful thing to say." I get it now. He's trying to protect me, because he knows that there will be consequences for me doing that, and that Jim might not hurt me as much if Sherlock says he forgives me.

I walk back over to inspect the trainers. "Thank you," I whisper, and I can tell he understands what I'm actually thanking him for. He smiles when he sees me looking at the trainers.

"Left by a bomber in an old building. Taken from a kid who drowned a while back. It was my first case." I nod and inspect one of them.

"Whoever they belonged to must've really cared about them. They've been cleaned 'til the white spots turned yellow and the shoelaces have been changed multiple times. Belonged to a male, judging by the size and style, anywhere from ages ten to sixteen. There's a name written on the inside, that suggests that his age was closer to ten and that he often went to a public place where he had to leave his shoes behind. They reek of chlorine, so most likely a public pool, visited often, since the scent is strong. There are flakes of skin on the shoelaces, meaning he had some kind of skin disease. The killer might've put some sort of poison in his medication, his limbs could've gotten frozen, and he could've drowned," I spew off without even thinking. Everyone's eyes are back on me again, and they're all shocked, surprised that this little girl did the same thing Sherlock did. I go red.

"Sorry, um, I just noticed and I couldn't help but say it." Crap. I usually keep that stuff inside my head.

"That," John says, turning to me. "Was amazing."

"Thanks," I mumble before walking away from the shoes. Jim puts his hand down on the table and 'accidentally' knocks a tray over. He scrambles to pick it up and slides a slip of paper under it. Sherlock sighs and looks at me again.

"Adalia, would you like to come over to my flat and I could help you work on your deduction skills?" That sounds super great, but there's no way Jim would let me go. Still, I glance to him hopefully and he nods slightly.

"I'd love to, Mr. Holmes, thank you." Jim says something to Molly about lunch breaks and date nights and then we exit. He says nothing until we get into his car. He waits for the driver to go before he moves.


	7. Chapter 7

Jim leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. I try to pull away, but he tightly grips my wrists.

"Well done," he whispers before kissing me. Tears trickle down my cheeks like they always do when he does this. He stops suddenly, and I don't know if I should be relieved or scared. He pulls his face back slightly, enough so he's not touching me, but close enough that I'm uncomfortable. He moves both of my wrists to one hand and wipes my tears off with the other.

"What's wrong, darling? You cry every time I kiss you. I'm starting to think you don't enjoy this." There's a small smirk on his lips, and seeing that makes something inside me snap.

"I don't. I hate this. I hate you. I hate the way you kidnapped me, and hurt me, and do all of these awful things to me, and then you kiss me, like we're dating or something. We're not! You've kept me in that place for six months and you're twenty one years older than me! And I can't do anything about it, either! I wanted to run today, but I couldn't, because you'll just find me and hurt me even more! So, no, I don't enjoy when you kiss me, because, every time you do, I want to slap you like you do to me!" This outburst might get me into trouble, but I don't particularly care at the moment. Besides, getting mad is better than crying and helplessly struggling.

"Go ahead," he says casually, releasing my wrists and tilting his head slightly. "Slap me like you did to Sherlock." I want to, but if I do, Seb might put a bullet through my brain.

"I can't," I say, exasperation clear in my tone.

"Why not? You just said you wanted to."

"I know I did, but if I actually did it, I might wake up with a concussion or not wake up at all."

"Fair point. Never mind." He pauses for a moment. "Why _did_ you slap Sherlock?" I don't detect any anger in his voice, only genuine curiosity.

"You said Adalia Brooke would be offended if anyone suggested her dad was gay, and he flat out said it. Just playing the role." He nods in what I think is understanding. I don't mention how it's because I was afraid I'd get in trouble for him saying I was abused.

"That thing with the trainers- was that for real?"

"Yeah, but I usually try to keep that in my head. I don't like all the attention. Wish I knew if I got it right, though, what the killer did."

"You did."

"How would you know?"

"Because I did it." I look up at him and can tell he's not lying.

"What was it, then? What poison did you use?"

"Botulinum in his eczema medication." My eyes widen.

"That's brilliant. No one would be looking for it, and, even if they were, it would still be incredibly hard to find. Oh, my gosh, that's bloody brilliant. No one thinks it's a murder, and so you don't get suspected." Even if killing someone is an awful thing to do, that's still a genius way to do it. His smirk is back, and I know whatever he's about to say will be sarcastic.

"I didn't know you thought that I was brilliant, darling. I thought that you hated me."

"I do hate you, and killing him was an awful thing for you to do. That doesn't mean I don't think you're really smart though." The car is silent for a few more minutes.

"When you go to Sherlock's flat tomorrow, don't try anything. I have cameras set up there." Great. Even when he's not with me, he's still watching.

"Sorry about this, darling, but it has to be done."

"What are you talking about?" He yanks my arm towards him and I feel a little pinch. I look at him before I slip away.

"Every time I get into a fucking car with you, I end up getting drugged." Jim slaps me and says something about manners.

When I wake up, I'm still sitting in Jim's car. I sit up groggily and look at him with narrowed eyes.

"Why aren't we home yet?"

"Because, I have something you need to do first."

"Which is?" He grins maniacally.

"You're my next hostage." I groan as I look down at the bomb strapped to my chest.

"Can I take this off?"

"No."

"But I'll read out everything just the way you put it. I'll even say it dramatically, if you want."

"Still no."

"Pleeeeeeeease? This thing is heavy."

"Are you afraid? Is that why you want to take it off? You're afraid of a few little blocks of C4?" I roll my eyes. Strangely, I'm not afraid.

"Of course not. I thought you knew me better than that." He pats me on the head.

"Then you're leaving it on. Now, I'm going to tell you what to say, and you're going to say it, exactly like I do."

"Can't we do this at the mansion? It would be a lot more comfortable, sitting on the couch instead of in the back of your car. Plus, my books are there. Now there's nothing to do while I wait." He hands me a copy of Harry Potter and the Order of The Phoenix and I shrug and take it.

"Fine. Just... promise you won't blow me up if Sherlock gets it wrong."

"I wouldn't kill you because of Sherlock's mistakes, darling. You're too much fun." He hands me a phone.

"You sure do know how to charm a girl." He smirks at me and I roll my eyes.

"Thanks."

"Sarcasm."

"Oh. Right. Call Sherlock. I'm going to type, and you're going to read off of this pager, just to make sure they don't hear my voice. Go on." I tap the only contact and call it. A female voice answers.

"Scotland Yard, how may I assist you?" I glance down at the pager.

"Put Sherlock on the phone, I'm strapped to a bomb," I read out, looking at Jim with raised eyebrows. It's true, he mouths with a shrug. I smile and shake my head as the sound of heels clicking on the floor fill the car.

"Hello," Sherlock answers.

"It's okay you've gone to the police," I read.

"Who is this? Is this you again?"

"But don't rely on them. Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers. I never liked him. He laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing." I look up at Jim and mouth Violence is never the answer, to which he rolls his eyes.

"You've stolen another voice, I presume. Not above taking children?"

"This is about you and me." Drama queen.

"Why isn't she crying? Is she strapped to a bomb?"

"Yes."

"Then why isn't she crying? She doesn't sound afraid."

"I can make her cry," Jim types. I look up at him with wide eyes, shaking my head. He wastes no time pulling out his knife and cutting my thigh, covering my mouth to stifle the scream.

"Sorry," he mutters in my ear.

"She's c-crying now. L-Look what you've d-done, Sherlock," I read, trying to keep myself from stuttering. Jim presses down on the cut and I let out a little yelp. God, that hurts.

"What was that?"

"The sounds of life, Sherlock. Don't worry, I can soon fix that. You solved my last puzzle in nine hours, this time you have eight." Jim ends the call and I groan.

"Eight bloody hours in this car, wearing this bomb? I don't think so."

"You don't have a choice. How bad is it," he asks gently, motioning to my thigh. I shrug.

"I've dealt with worse. Stings, though."

"That's bound to happen when you get cut with a knife, darling. I'm sorry about that, by the way. Didn't want Sherlock to think I was treating my hostages too nicely."

"Don't think he doubted that." I flip the book open and read, thoroughly ignoring the bomb strapped to me and the psycho staring thoughtfully at me. Eventually, he pries the book from my hands, me complaining the whole time, and replaces it with the phone and the pager. I grumble about how he's very lucky I'm strapped to a bomb and he has the ability to blow me up right now, or else I would punch him repeatedly. He chuckles and presses the call button.

"Hello," Sherlock answers.

"The clue's in the name. Janus Cars."

"Why would you be giving me a clue?"

"Why does anyone do anything, Sherlock? Because I'm bored and you take too long when you're left by yourself. Also, my hostage is complaining." Jim wraps his arm around my shoulders at that part. I scrunch my nose up.

"Then talk to me in your own voice."

"Patience." Jim hangs up again and hands me my book. I sigh and look up at him.

"Did you bring my reading glasses? This has been getting steadily blurrier by the minute." He slides the black glasses out of his pocket and holds them just out of my reach.

"You can have them in exchange for a kiss."

"I'll just squint." He rolls his eyes and slides them on my face, ignoring my protests about how I can do it myself. I go back to reading after that. After a few more hours, Jim takes the book from my hands.

"Come ooooooon. How many hints does he need?"

"He's solved it."

"Does this mean you're going to let me go?" He places his hand gently on my cheek.

"Sorry, darling, no. You're special. You're mine. I'm not giving you up just like that." I let out a frustrated growl as he hands me the phone again. He kisses my forehead.

"I know, I know. You don't want to be here. Just try to make the best out of it, though. Apparently it helps."

"On a scale from one to ten, this is a negative twelve, Jim. I don't see how I can make the best out of it. I mean, even when you're in a good mood you physically injure me." I press the call button and stare down at the pager.

"Hello?"

"I'm keeping this one. I rather like her. Pretty, she is. She's gorgeous. So, anyways, I've changed the rules just for her. The next one, I promise I'll give back." Jim hangs up and helps me out of the bomb vest. He places it on the floor and pulls out a needle. I back slightly away from him. I hate that stupid knockout drug.

"Hey, calm down, darling. Give me your arm." I shake my head.

"You were jus strapped to a bomb. Don't tell me you can't handle on little needle?"

"I hate needles."

"And you also hate being conscious around me. Give me your arm so you can get a few hours peace and quiet." When I make no move to give him my arm, he slides over and gently picks it up. He injects me and then holds me, humming a lullaby. I fight sleep, forcing myself to stay awake.

"Just close your eyes, love. Close your eyes and go to sleep."

"Don't wanna sleep," I say, words severely slurred.

"Go to sleep. Go on, I won't hurt you."

"No. Don't wanna sleep."

"Why not?"

"Dreams," I murmur. Jim rocks me back and forth slightly.

"Go to sleep. You'll be fine, they're just dreams."

"No."

"Go to sleep. Close your eyes. You'll have a headache if you keep trying to fight the drug."

"Stop drugging me. Not funny."

"You're right, it's not funny. It's hilarious." I try to slap him and end up hitting myself on the leg. He laughs softly, the noise echoing through my head as I fail to stay awake and slip out of consciousness.

Again, I apologize if the formatting has gone all cray-cray. Dang computer.

Here, we see a little bit of 'bonding' between Jim and Adalia- but she still hates his guts, of course. To be honest with you guys, Jim being nice to Adalia with fluffy scenes are the second best to write (second only to Jim torturing Adalia mentally).

Also, this fic has thirty-something chapters just by Baskerville, and it's going to continue past season three, so if you don't like really long fics, I'd advise you stop reading before the plot really develops.

Anything you guys want to see incorporated into this? Fluffy chapters? Torture? A little MorMor fluff? There's one simple way to get it put in the story- leave a review! As long as it's nothing above a T-rating and I think it can fit, then I'll do it!

Read and review, please!


	8. Chapter 8

This time, when I wake up in the little room, I'm not alone. A woman with her brown hair done in an elegant bun and in a black dress that hugs her in all the right places and is short while still looking classy is sitting next to me. I quickly sit up and eye her warily. Is she someone sent by Jim to hurt me? Is she another innocent person kidnapped by Jim? Is she a hallucination from those stupid drugs?

"Good, you're finally awake. I'd ask if you know where we are, but I doubt he's told you any more than he's told me," she says in a tone that shows just how stupid she thinks I am.

"Who are you," I ask suspiciously.

"Irene Adler. I don't know who took us, but some blokes drugged me in my own home and I woke up here. You are?"

"Adalia Shonley. I know who took us, but I'm not exactly sure where we are."

"Great. Go on, then."

"It was Jim Moriarty. We're in the smallest room of his mansion right now. I don't know if you've met him before or not, but don't be sarcastic and don't make him mad. I speak from experience."

"Oh, I know him. I work for him. I'm his favorite." She smiles somewhat smugly at me and I roll my eyes.

"Please. I've heard him talk about an Irene before, and he said he wishes that she would stop talking in damn riddles and just get the information she's supposed to. You're not exactly his favorite." She scowls slightly.

"Well, how do you know Jim? He doesn't hire fifteen year olds."

"Thirteen and I don't work for him. He kidnapped me six months ago. He likes to injure, kiss, and annoy me on a daily basis. He calls me darling most of the time, but my official title is live-in ordinary person."

"I don't believe you." I pull the gauze from my hand and show her the scars.

"He did that to me the first night I got here. Would you like to know why, Miss Adler? Because the drugs he gave me caused me to be sarcastic and he said that his pet needed to remember who her owner was. Believe me yet, Irene?" Before she can answer, the door opens and I expect to see Seb. Instead, I'm looking into the face of Jim Moriarty. I groan and turn my back to him. Irene stands up, some sign of respect, I guess. I continue to ignore him. He sighs.

"Darling, you know how I hate it when you ignore me," he says, sounding exasperated as if we've had this conversation before (which we have, but it involved more screaming and desperately apologizing than this). I don't do anything but smile inwardly at how surprised Irene looks that he ignored her and is instead talking to me.

"Darling, did I do something to make you mad?" I want to scream back that everything he's done since I met him has made me mad. I stay silent.

"Darling, please don't make me resort to violence. What did I do? Please just tell me and I'll make it up to you." That confirmed my suspicions. He wants us to argue in front of Irene, wants me to get mad and yell at him. I'm not sure why, but I don't want to make him mad and really have him become violent. I sigh, stand up, and face him.

"You drugged me again. You haven't done that in over three months, and you drug me so you can pick her up-" I point at Irene. "And you drop the two of us in here so you can watch us get into an argument. Don't play stupid, I know you have cameras and microphones in here." I add the part with my voice dripping in venom as he starts to deny it.

"You know I had to, you can't know where her house is, I promised her I wouldn't let anyone know where she lives-"

"You could've warned me and told me you were going to drug me! Most people don't appreciate suddenly falling unconscious-"

"Don't even say that, you knew you were going to pass out, you had enough time to make a sarcastic comment and curse-"

"It's a natural reaction for me to be sarcastic when someone gets drugs in my bloodstream! Don't drug me, and I won't curse!"

"Do try not to curse the next time I drug you, because I will drug you again." I shake my head an give a mirthless laugh, throwing my head back and making an expression as exaggerated as Jim's.

"You can drug me all you want, but I'm just warning you. That does things to me. Do you think that you can give me drugs and they won't have side effects? They make me delirious, they give me awful headaches, I have nightmares that are so vivid I can't tell the difference between what's real and what's not, my thoughts get all jumbled, and I can't really control what I say. And it doesn't just last for one day. The nightmares last for a month, and I can't think straight for at least a week. So tell me, Jim, is all of that worth me being knocked out for a few hours?" He's staring at me in horror now, and I know it's true horror and shock. I didn't tell him about the symptoms because I was terrified he'd only make it worse.

"Darling, I am so sorry. I didn't know it did that to you. I'll get my scientists to work on it, change it so that doesn't happen anymore. I am so sorry. Come here. Next time I drug you, I'll warn you. I promise." He holds his arms open and I have no choice but to walk forward and let him hug me. Tears are pouring out from my eyes now, mostly fake.

"You're a brilliant actress, you know. And I'm sorry, I really am, about the drugs. I was assured they didn't have side-effects. Be more convincing and hug me back, now. Irene is getting cocky and thinks she's my favorite, when you really are. You really are a brilliant little girl, figuring it out," he whispers into my ear as he hugs me so Irene can't hear. I wrap my arms around him and pretend it's my dad hugging me so I don't puke.

"Jim, please don't drug me any more. I'll be good, and I'll do what you want me to, but please just don't drug me. It's terrifying," I whisper back. He doesn't answer. I know what no answer means. He pulls away and I instinctively take a few steps back.

"Irene, I need to talk to you, but I just wanted to say hi and let you and my darling get to know each other. I'll be back in a few minutes, but I had to step in before you two started clawing each other's eyes out. Don't kill each other. Still love you, darling."

"Still hate you, Jim." He rolls his eyes and walks out. That's the closest he's going to get to what he wants me to say. I turn and see Irene still in shock.

"You shouted. You shouted and-and he apologized. How did you do that? You got Jim Moriarty to apologize."

"Brilliant observation, Irene. Now please do shut up. You're rather annoying." I hear a faint snicker. Of course Jim is still outside the door.

"Are you two in a relationship?"

"God, no. He kidnapped me and tortures me for fun. I guess he has some sort of attachment to me, but he thinks of me as his pet. Isn't that right, Jimmy?" I shout the last part at the door.

"Mostly, yes. And I thought I told you not to call me Jimmy." I shrug even though he can't see it.

"You tell me a lot of things. Doesn't mean I listen."

"Watch what you say, darling. I will drug you, okay?"

"Fine, Jimmy, sorry." I turn back to Irene.

"Are you sure that you two aren't together?"

"Irene, do me a favor and shut the fu-"

"Language, darling," Jim interrupts me. I roll my eyes.

"Sorry, Jimmy, but she's being a bi-" I call back before I get interrupted again. I roll my eyes.

"Darling, I said language. I don't like my little pet using words like that."

"Then tell her to stop. I can't help it. Someone put drugs in me." A sigh then a pause.

"Irene, please do be polite to my darling. I hate hearing her so upset."

"Of course, Jim." She glares at me. I smirk.

"Darling, don't gloat. It's not ladylike."

"Jimmy, we both know I've never been ladylike."

"Didn't I just tell you not to call me that," he says as he walks through the door with a needle in his hand. I just stare up at him with wide eyes from the ground. Why can't I just keep my big mouth shut?

"Arm, please," he says with a cold edge to his words that frightens me so much. I start to stand up so he can reach my arms easier when I fall back down. I feel very light headed and dizzy, probably because I haven't eaten in three days and those drugs make me weak. I look up at him and see his big brown eyes glaring at me. He bends down and jabs the needle into my neck and I go into asleep filled with awful dreams.

Sassy Adalia is my favorite Adalia. Also, Irene will be making a return in later chapters...

Read and review!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Spoiler for Mockingjay inside, if you haven't read it, don't read anything between the asterisks (* - I think that's what those are called). Also, the quality of the writing in this chapter is acceptable at best and a pile of dog crap at worst. Sorry about it. I've been getting a bit of writer's block lately. Remember to read and review!

I wake up on the bed. Jim is next to me, which is strange, because the clock says 1 PM. One hour to my first time away from him, and here he is, watching me sleep like the creep he is.

"I heard screaming so I came in," he explains in a soft and gentle voice. He reaches towards me and I flinch, but he just brushes away the tears that I didn't know were under my eyes. I sit up and bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs. I rock back and forth slightly as I remember the nightmare. They're usually the same, me watching my house burn down with my parents in it, but this time it was worse. This time, I was the one holding the match. I was holding a match and screaming for my parents as the house blew up and then was engulfed in flames, and Jim was standing right next to me, laughing and telling me it was my fault that they died.

I feel his eyes watching me, so I cautiously turn to look at him.

"Was the nightmare really that bad, darling? You don't usually scream in your sleep." I just nod. I don't think I can talk right now.

"What was it about, darling? Talking about it will make you feel better." I take a shaky breath.

"It was pretty much the same as usual. I stood in front of my house and watched it burn with my parents in it. Except, this time was worse. I was holding a match in my hand. And you were standing next to me, and you were _laughing_. And you told me it was all my fault. You said it was my fault that my parents are dead," I whisper, sobbing hysterically. He pulls me into a hug, and I rest my head against his chest, wishing that it was someone else who was here, comforting me over my parents' deaths. After a moment he pushes me back, and I'm afraid he's mad I got my tears all over his shirt. He just brushes them away gently and looks into my eyes with such an intense stare that I can't look away.

"Adalia Shonley, I want you to listen to me right now. Your parents dying was _not_ your fault. It's not your fault they're dead. They are not dead because of you. You had nothing to do with them dying. It is not your fault. I'm only saying this because it's true, and I don't like seeing you so upset over something that you had no control over. Do you understand me, Adalia? This is not your fault." Since when does Jim try to comfort me? And since when does he call me Adalia? There's something he's not telling me.

"Whose fault is it, Jim? Who is responsible for my parents leaving me?" He closes his eyes briefly.

"Mine. It's my fault. I'm responsible. I made the explosion look like a gas leak."

"Why? Please just tell me why you killed them." His face turns into a grimace, and then he looks as though he's bracing himself.

"I was bored."

"You took away my family because you were bored?" He nods guiltily. I just sigh and lean into his chest again. Knowing this won't change anything, and it won't bring my parents back, so I'm not going to get all worked up over it and do something that will get me hurt. He strokes my hair a little, but I just tug my braid away from his hand as I start to cry again. After a few minutes, he nudges my shoulder.

"You need to get ready for your visit to Sherlock's flat." I nod and head to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. While I'm in there, my head is spinning around, words rushing through my head. Part of it is because of the drugs he injected me with but the rest is me hating him for ruining my life so much. I turn the water off and get dressed quickly, not caring what clothes I put on.

I search the mansion for Jim, but can't find him anywhere, which means he's in his office. I nervously approach the door and knock quietly on the door frame, glad he doesn't have any hot beverages to throw at me. He turns around and glares at me, and I know something bad is about to happen. He stands up and walks to me in only three strides and pins me against the door frame. I close my eyes and wait for whatever it'll be this time to come.

"Didn't I tell you not to come near my office," he whispers, his face only an inch from mine. God, he's good at making me scared and uncomfortable at the same time. I nod my head.

"Open your eyes, darling, I want you to see this before you feel it." I open my eyes and meet his, the ones that are so brown they're black, the ones filled with anger right now, the ones that scare me every time I look at them. I stand there, unable to move, waiting for whatever it is to happen. He smiles at the fear in my eyes before he presses his mouth against mine. I don't even try to struggle, because I'm too weak, and I wouldn't be able to get him off anyways. Instead, I summon all of my strength and courage and punch him in the stomach. He stops, then, and we leave, but I can tell I'll pay for that later.

In the car, it's quiet for a few moments before Jim speaks up.

"How'd you like our guest, darling?" I look at him for a really long time before I put up my middle finger. He tsks and grabs my hand.

"Be careful, or I'll have to break this." I stick my tongue out at him and yank my hand back. He raises an eyebrow.

"Someone's being childish today. What's wrong, darling?"

"Oh, nothing much, it's just that I've found out that the psycho who kidnapped me so I could be his pet is the same person who BLEW MY PARENTS UP BECAUSE HE WAS BORED! But _no_ , it's _fine_ , nothing's wrong at all! I'm perfectly okay, because getting mad that my life was ruined by you twice because you were bored is apparently childish, and I'm supposed to be okay with everything you do to me!" Seb snorts from the driver's seat.

"Shut up, Seb," Jim and I say at the same time. Jim turns back to me.

"I don't like the way you're talking to me, darling," he says while tracing a finger along my jawline.

"Fuck you." He punches me on my jaw and looks at me, waiting for me to say something. I don't, so he does.

"Y'know, darling, you've been so disrespectful to me lately. I don't know what's gotten into you, but, if you keep it up, I'll have to make you hurt." I snicker.

"You do that all the time anyways."

"I can do things worse than that. Darling, I can be so cruel." Who knows how awful he can be?

"Would apologizing help at this point, or have I already crossed the line and you're going to hurt me when we get home," I whisper. He smirks slyly and I start getting more and more nervous.

"I think I might have to teach you a lesson, my little _pet_." Seb looks at Jim sternly in the rearview mirror.

"You most certainly will not, Jim," Seb says with an angry look on his face.

"And why not, Sebby?"

"Because you've hurt that poor girl enough. She already has enough psychological damage, and she doesn't need anymore."

"Since when are you the judge of what I can and can't do, _Sebastian_?"

"When you're going to do something that awful to a thirteen year old girl, _James_!" I don't know what they're talking about, but I don't like the sound of it. Jim looks over at me.

"I won't do that to you, but I _will_ make you pay somehow. Have fun, Adalia." I climb out of the car and hurry up to the door marked '221B'. I ring the doorbell and an older lady answers it.

"Who are you, dear? A client? And it looks like someone's hurt you. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, thank you. And Sherlock invited me over. My name's Adalia." She raises her eyebrows.

"Not that it's my business, Adalia, but aren't you a little young for Sherlock? I mean, he is thirty-four, and you don't look any older than sixteen." My face goes red from embarrassment and I giggle awkwardly.

"Um, I'm only thirteen. Sherlock and I aren't dating. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's with John Watson." She breathes a little sigh of relief and opens the door wider.

"I say the same thing, but they always deny it. You can go right up."

"Thanks."

I run up the stairs and stop short when I hear a voice yelling. I flinch because it sounds so much like Jim yelling at me for being an idiot or doing something wrong or just because something went wrong with one of his clients and he needs to yell at someone. I freeze and can't move from fear. The shouting suddenly stops. I see Sherlock walking towards me. I'm still shaking and trying to calm myself down when he reaches me. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and starts to lead me inside the flat.

"it's alright, Adalia, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not Jim. I won't hurt you. He isn't going to hurt you right now. You're safe here," Sherlock says in a calming tone. He leads me to a comfy arm chair and I sit down, instinctively checking to make sure I'm sitting properly. He sits down across from me, and I look up at him. His eyes are what calm me down the most. They're blue, icy blue, not the miniature black holes Jim has for eyes. That calms me down more than anything else ever could.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for inviting me here."

"You can call me Sherlock. And it's no problem, Adalia, I just thought it would be good for you to get away from Jim for a while." I smile nervously.

"Thanks for that. I think I almost gave the land lady a heart attack." He smiles a bit, just one corner turned up, but it's genuine and a nice change from Jim's smirk.

"Why?"

"I told her I was here to see you, and then she found out I wasn't a client. She thought I was in a relationship with you." He chuckles at that.

"She worries too much."

"It seems like it. She's worried you're dating me and you've already got a boyfriend." He tenses and I grimace. I slap my hand to my forehead. Idiot! Just keep your big mouth shut!

"Sorry, Sherlock, sometimes I forget what people tell me themselves and what I deduce. But I know you're in a relationship with John."

"Good deduction."

"Thank you."

"Sorry that I scared you out there. I was just watching telly and they kept getting everything wrong."

"It's fine. It's not your fault I get scared easily."

"And it's not your fault, either. It's Jim's. Look, Adalia, I feel obligated to take you to the police, so they can protect you from Jim. I know you're abused, and you need to do something about it. So, would you like to go now?"

"No, Sherlock, please don't do that! That's a horrible idea!"

"Why is it a horrible idea?"

"He'll kill me, that's why!"

"He won't know about it. I can help you."

"He'll know about it, because he finds out about everything. Thank you for trying to help me, but please just don't do that." He sighs and stares me down.

"Alright. But, if things ever get really bad and you run away, you're always welcome here."

"Thank you." He pulls a violin off of a table and starts playing it beautifully. I mentally record it so I can hear it in my mind when I can't sleep at night. He finishes and I clap for him. He smiles again and does a little mock bow. The door opens and John comes in. He doesn't see me and doesn't know I'm here, apparently, because he goes over to Sherlock and starts kissing him, running his hands through his curly hair.

"I love you so much, Sherly, you know that? I almost got run over today, and I thought my last words to you were going to be, 'Don't be such an arse'," John says before going back to kissing him. I cough awkwardly and John spins around, face red.

"Oh, hello, Adalia. When did you get here?"

"About half an hour ago. 'Sherly'?" Now Sherlock's face goes red. I just giggle and shake my head.

"You two are my real life OTP. This ship has sailed," I say, accidentally slipping into Fangirl. I do that, sometimes, when I see a really cute couple. Now Sherlock looks inquisitively at me.

"OTP," Sherlock questions. I nod.

"Fangirl slang for 'one true pairing'. It means I ship you and John." He looks at me even more questioningly, but John answers for me this time.

"It's when you want two people to be in a relationship together. It's usually used when talking about fictional characters, but you can spot obsessive fangirls and fanboys when they ship real people. An OTP is someone's biggest ship. So what's the ship name?

"Johnlock. Good explanation, too. So what fandom is it?"

"Harry Potter, Doctor Who, and Hunger Games."

"Nice. I started Doctor Who, but I haven't finished it yet." Sherlock groans from the couch.

"Not you, too. Do you really watch that show? John tried to get me to watch it, but it was truly awful," Sherlock says.

"Really? Because you remind me of the ninth Doctor."

"I told you, Sherlock, that you were exactly like him." John and I high- five and Sherlock laughs.

"You two are such _dorks._ "

"Don't be a Dalek at the Timelord party, Sherlock," John says with a grin.

"I don't even know what a Dalek is!"

"Don't be a Dursley at Hogwarts."

"I don't know what that is, but it better not be offensive."

"Don't be that one kid from the Capitol in District Thirteen," I add in.

"Oh, please, you're about as bad as President Coin," Sherlock says and my eyebrows shoot up.

"There is still time to turn him into an obsessive fan, John. Tell me, Sherlock, did you watch the movies or read the books first?"

"I read the books."

*"How long did you cry when Prim died?"*

"I'm a high-functioning sociopath. I don't cry over the deaths of fictional characters." I look at John.

"He refused to get out of bed for a week and ate a whole gallon of chocolate ice cream while listening to 'Hanging Tree' on repeat." Just as we're about to continue the conversation, my phone beeps and I pull it out (Jim hacked it and made it so the only person I could contact is him, of course.).

 _I'm here. Get down here, darling._

 _-JM_

Sherlock must have noticed how my face got pale, because he's looking at me with worry written all over his face.

"Are you alright, Adalia?" I nod and swallow around the lump in my throat. He promised he would make me hurt after my meeting with Sherlock.

"It's him, isn't it," he asks in a low voice. I nod again as my phone receives another text.

 _Darling, what's taking you so long? I don't like to be kept waiting._

 _-JM_

"He's not happy, either. Before we got here, he said I was showing too much attitude and he'd make me pay later," I say quietly.

"You don't have to go with him, Adalia. You can stay here and John and I will call the police on him," Sherlock says softly. "He can't hurt you from inside a prison." I laugh bitterly.

"You don't know him like I do. Prison wouldn't stop him from hurting me." My phone goes off again.

 _Darling, it's almost like you're asking for me to hurt you. Don't ignore me, or I just might 'forget' what Seb told me not to do to you._

 _-JM_

I quickly type back a text of my own:

 _Please don't hurt me, Jim. I swear I'm not ignoring you. I just had to talk Sherlock and John out of calling the police on you for being an abusive father. I promise I'll be right down._

 _-AS_

"I have to go, I'm sorry. He's getting annoyed. Thank you for inviting me over. Sorry I interrupted the two of you kissing." I run down the stairs before either of them can say anything, but get stopped by the landlady.

"Dear, are you alright? Oh, why don't you sit down and have a biscuit before you go?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't. My dad's waiting and he's getting pretty mad," I say just as another text comes through:

 _Adalia, get out here right now. Stop chatting with Mrs. Hudson before there is the corpse of an old landlady laying on her own kitchen floor because she decided to offer you a biscuit._

 _-JM_

I push past her without saying bye. I feel slightly guilty, but not as guilty as I would feel if an old woman died because of me. I trip down the steps and hit my head. Hard. I groan as Jim bends down in front of me.

"You can't do anything right, can you," he asks as he yanks me to my feet.

"I'm sorry, it was an accident, I didn't _mean_ to fall down the stairs." He sighs as he pushes me into the backseat of the car. We start to move, and I know things are about to get bad.


	10. Chapter 10

"Darling, we were having a good day. You had to spoil it, though, didn't you? You've been naughty, darling, and you're going to pay now," he says, grabbing my wrists and yanking me forward. I twist myself around and try to get free, but I know I'll never successfully get my hands away unless he wants me to. He presses his lips against mine and the tears start flowing down my face, pale from not seeing the sun in half a year. He twists my right wrist in a way that makes me gasp in pain. Fortunately, I can tell it's not a break, only a sprain, seeing as I've sprained my wrist several times before, but never as badly as this one. He pulls his head away and starts laughing hysterically. The laughter is supposed to unnerve me, but it's better than the silences that are like the calm before the storm. He starts jerking my wrist around, and I scream out in pain.

"Boss, I think that's enough now. You need to stop, Jim," Seb says from the driver's seat. Jim abruptly stops laughing and stares at the back of Seb's head.

"Sebastian, remember that little talk we had about me doing what I want and you just shutting up and looking pretty? Besides, I don't even know why you care. You're used to seeing me torture people."

"Yes, I am, but I'm telling you that you need to stop now. You're going overboard. She probably has a minor concussion from falling down the steps, she's already scared to death of you, and, from what I remember, you told me that there was more after this. You're turning her life into a living hell, Jim, and I'm not just going to sit back and let you. You've terrified her, and now you're hurting her. I'm telling you to stop doing that to her wrist before you break it. Now knock it the fuck off, Jim, because I cannot stand to hear her in pain."

"Fine, Sebastian, but only because you asked so nicely." He drops my hand into my lap and I sigh in relief. He picks up my left wrist and turns my arm so the inside of my forearm is facing him. He pulls a knife, the same one from that first night, out of his pocket. I whimper softly. He puts the knife down for a second and reaches up to stroke my cheek.

"Hush, now, darling, this will only hurt for a little while. It's just like getting a tattoo. Come on, don't cry, darling, I know you can be strong, can't you? Can you be strong for me and not cry," he whispers gently as I stare up at him with tears still falling down my cheeks. He brushes them away.

"Please don't do this. I'm sorry. Please don't, Jim, please," I whisper back, my voice sounding so desperate and weak I don't even recognize it.

"I have to, darling, I'm sorry. You were bad and I can't let you walk away thinking it's okay to do whatever you want. You have to learn a lesson, Adalia, and since Seb told me I am not allowed to do a certain thing to you under any circumstances, I have to do this. I still love you, though, darling." He picks the knife up again and digs it into my skin. I grit my teeth, determined not to cry or scream. He keeps this up for a few minutes, and I'm able to keep my mouth shut, but a tear slips down my cheek and lands on my arm, right on the worst of the cuts. I let a little hiss escape my mouth as I keep the steady stream of curse words in my head. It only takes him a few moments to finish. I put my arm at my side, not wanting to read it, but Jim just pouts at me.

"Darling, I put a lot of work into that. Won't you at least look at it?" His tone tells me not to argue, so I glance at my bloody arm, which now says 'JIM'S DARLING' in big red letters.

"There's so much blood, Jim. Is there supposed to be that much blood?"

"Don't worry, darling, I'm not going to let you die from blood loss. It's not enough to kill you, you won't pass out, you won't have any long-term damage. The most that will happen is you get a little bit dizzy, but you won't even be able to tell because of your concussion."

"It's all over me. There's blood all over my arm and now my hand and I want it off, Jim, I want to get the blood off. It's so nasty. It's warm, Jim, and gooey. I have my own blood all over me, Jim, get it off, please just get it off, Jim, please just get it off, I don't know how you can stand getting blood all over you, please make it stop bleeding all ready, it's awful, I want it off, please help me get it off-" I whisper, shaking my head back and forth as I stare down at my bloody hands and arm. I know I'm not making a lot of sense right now, but I can't think clearly. All I can focus on is the blood and how much of it is all over me and how awful it feels. Maybe this is what it's like to have a mental breakdown.

"Adalia, stop it. You're not making sense," Jim says with worry etched on his face. I continue rambling on.

"There's so much. Oh my god, it's so much. It's so red. It's sort of pretty, Jim, don't you think? In a bad way, though. Like how pretty my house looked when you blew it up. Those flames were so pretty. They made me sad, though. This makes me sad, Jim, because it hurts. It hurts really bad, but the blood is so pretty. Is this why you killed all those people? So you could see their pretty blood come out? Carl didn't bleed though, did he? Little Carl Powers died and it was useless, because he didn't even bleed, so he was ugly when he died, because his pretty red blood didn't come out."

"Jim, you broke her! You broke her, Jim! You've never done this to anyone before, Jim, you just killed them after you tortured them. You killed them and they stopped hurting, but you tortured her for six months and never showed any signs of stopping, and it became too much for her, and now she's broken. God, you torture people for one week at the most usually. This is what happens. And it happened to an innocent thirteen year old girl," Seb shouts from the front seat, and I can't say anything. The blood is so fascinating to me, it's so pretty, and I keep dipping my fingers in it and looking at the color.

Jim just stares at me in horror. I look up at him and reach forward, painting a little smiley face on his cheek.

"See, I gave you a smiley face because you're so mad at me all the time, and I thought you forgot what a smile looked like, so you can have that to look at the next time you forget," I explain like I'm talking to a small child. I giggle and lean in closer to him. "Plus, I thought that having blood on your face would make you look more intimidating for your clients." Then I scream out as a new wave of pain surges through my arm. Jim brings me closer to him and puts my head on his chest like he did this morning. He rubs circles on my back and I sob while trying to calm down. I move my head away from him and meet his eyes.

"It hurts so bad, Jim," I say, pain clear in my voice and probably my eyes, too. "You lied to me."

"What do you mean, darling?"

"You said it would only hurt for a little while. But it hurts so bad, Jim."

"It's going to be okay soon, we'll get your arm bandaged up-"

"I'm not talking about my fucking arm! Everything, it hurts! Losing my parents, losing my life, losing my happiness, losing everything I love, getting taken by you so I can play some role in your sick fantasy where you have a pet human, all of the words you say to me, my arm, losing my sister." His face turns to a confused one at this part.

"Bet you didn't know I had a sister, did you? She was my younger sister, and she looked up to me, and she was supposed to be at school that day, with me, but she pretended to be sick. And I helped her with it. I helped her pretend to be sick, and so I helped her die. Do you know awful I feel about that, Jim? But I've had to pretend to be okay for the past six months so I don't get my brains blown out. And so everything, it hurts. And I have a request for you. Or Seb, whoever cares more about me."

"What is it, darling?"

"Kill me. Just shoot me right through the head. Because I don't want to live anymore if it means I have to live with you, the murderer of my family, and the guilt of knowing that I was partly responsible for my sister dying."

"I'm not going to kill you, and neither is Seb. We're going to go home, and you're going to sleep, and you'll be all better in the morning. And we're going to call the doctor, too." I cross my arms and pout.

"Fine. But I want to watch Doctor Who when I wake up."

"No way."

"Jim, let her watch it for fuck's sake. You just heard her tell you how she lost everyone and everything because of you, and she doesn't even want to live anymore. Let her watch fucking Doctor Who."

"Alright." I lay my head back down on his chest, trying to have a coherent thought.

"I have one more request."

"If it involves me killing you or letting you go, the answer is no."

"No, it's not that. Will you watch Doctor Who with me? It's better when you don't watch it alone." Not true at all. I just know he'll hate it, and I want him to suffer through something he doesn't like the same way he's made me suffer through things I don't like for six months.

"If it will make you better, I will suffer through that ridiculous show with you and Sebby."

Sorry it's been a while since I updated! I think you guys might possibly get _two_ chapters tonight for being extremely patient with my ridiculous procrastination.

Also, please go vote on my poll, which can be found on my profile page.

Read and review!


	11. Chapter 11

As much as I hate to admit it, Jim was right. I wake up the next morning, feeling as normal as one possibly can when living with the world's number one psychopath and his (probably gay- I ship Seb and Jim) best friend.

"Darling, please don't have another mental breakdown, okay? I just want to know if you would like pancakes or waffles for breakfast. Sebby said that I should let you sleep, but you haven't eaten in five days, and I don't want you fainting," Jim says when he wakes me up. I squint at the clock- 10:37. He never lets me sleep in that late. Maybe I should lose my grip on my sanity more often.

"I'm not hungry, Jim." He looks at me with concern, and that is when I completely take in his appearance. He's wearing his usual Westwood suit with his designer Italian leather shoes and his hair is slicked back, but he is also wearing a pink frilly apron with lots of glitter and hearts on it. Which is strange, seeing as I am the only female in this mansion and that is not my apron. I giggle hysterically and the concern on his face grows even deeper.

"Are you having another breakdown? I'm getting Seb," he says, turning to leave.

"N-no, I'm f-fine. But j-just one q-question. Is that really your apron," I manage to choke out between giggles. He glares at me and I stop laughing. Seb isn't here to protect me, and I don't think he really cares what my mental state is. His face softens when he sees the terror on mine.

"Yes, it's mine. They were having a seventy five percent off sale. I couldn't resist. Besides, it makes me look like a pretty pretty princess." I laugh at him again and he sits down next to me on the bed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"You have to eat something, darling. You haven't eaten in five days. It's not good for you. So, pancakes or waffles?" I look up at him and try to hypnotize him with the awesome powers that I apparently don't possess.

"Darling, staring at me with your beautiful blue eyes is not an answer. Pancakes or waffles?" I frown.

"Macaroni and cheese."

"It's ten thirty in the morning. Macaroni and cheese is not a proper breakfast."

"I don't care. I have a macaroni and cheese craving. I want that for breakfast."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Absolutely, positively, one hundred percent serious." I do my best puppy dog eyes and stick out my lower lip and make it tremble slightly. He grimaces.

"Alright, alright, just... stop making that face. You could kill someone from the amount of cuteness. I'll make you macaroni and cheese."

"No, you're terrible at cooking. I want Seb to make it. Besides, you always try to make everything fancy, and all I want is a box of three minute Kraft macaroni and cheese."

"Three minute? What is that even supposed to mean?"

"It cooks in three minutes, doofus."

"You are the doofus. Anything that comes out of a box and takes only three minutes to make has got to be awful."

"It's very delicious, thank you very much, pretty pretty princess." He chuckles.

"We don't possess three minute Kraft macaroni and cheese." I shrug.

"Go to the store and buy some." He raises his eyebrows.

"You want me, the world's only consulting criminal, to go to the store to buy you a box of macaroni and cheese? How hard did you hit your head yesterday?" I roll my eyes at him.

"I thought you had people to run and get you whatever you wanted?"

"I do, but they get me guns and poison and weapons, not my groceries. Everyone will laugh at me."

"D'you really think they're going to laugh at you, when you could have them killed for looking at you the wrong way?"

"Fair point. I'll be back." He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I still cringe away from him. Just because he's acting nice right now doesn't mean I've forgotten what he can and probably will do to me.

"Please don't do that, Jim. Please," I whisper. He nods.

"Of course, darling, sorry." He heads to go make a phone call to one of his employees about his sudden need for cheap macaroni and cheese. He comes back over after a short conversation. He sits back down and starts braiding my hair for me, since he injured my wrist and I don't think I could do it myself.

"It should be here in five minutes."

"Thanks, Jimmy-Jim, you're the best. When did you learn how to braid?" He chuckles.

"First of all, do me a favor and never call me Jimmy-Jim again. Secondly, I don't know how to braid and my fingers are now caught in your hair." I groan.

"Why would you attempt this if you didn't know how to braid?"

"I saw you do it every day for the past six months and it didn't look too hard, so I thought I'd try it. Whoops." I sigh.

"SEB! SEBBY, PLEASE COME HELP ME! JIM IS HURTNG ME AGAIN! PLEASE HURRY UP, I CAN'T GET HIM OFF," I shout at the top of my lungs. Jim laughs behind me.

"You are one evil little girl."

"You've been rubbing off on me." The hurried footsteps grow louder, and then I hear a smack that sounds like a fist connecting with a face.

"What the hell, Seb," Jim groans. Seb ignores this and walks around to look at me. I attempt to look innocent.

"Seriously, Ad?"

"Sorry, Seb, I think living with a sniper and a consulting criminal has made me evil."

"Alright, I'm going to pretend you didn't give me a heart attack and ask a very important question now. Why the fuck are Jim's fingers caught in your hair, and why the fuck are you so calm and not injured for someone who just shouted at the top of their lungs that Jim was hurting you?"

"You see, Jim was trying to be kind and braid my hair for me, but he really has no idea how to braid, so his fingers are now caught in my hair. I can't help him get them out because my wrist is nearly broken-" I shoot a glare at Jim "-so I knew you'd have to help. However, I also knew that you would take pictures for blackmail, and you would not bother to grab your phone if you thought Jim was hurting me. So I screamed that at the top of my lungs, and now you can untangle Jim's fingers from my hair."

"You are such a liar."

"No, because Jim really is hurting me. He's pulling my hair. And I can't get him off, either. Please, Seb, help me?" I make the face that had Jim cringing because of the adorableness.

"Alright, just don't make that face. It makes me feel guilty." Seb starts trying to untangle Jim's fingers. After a few moments, his fingers get caught as well.

"Great job, Sebby. Why did I even hire you," Jim says. I elbow him in the stomach.

"James Elizabeth Moriarty, you be nice to Seb. He's helping you get out of another mess that you created."

"Careful, darling, or I'll shoot you. And my middle name isn't Elizabeth."

"Don't you remember that I want you to kill me? Besides, pretty pretty princess, what can you do with your hands stuck in my hair?"

"This." He yanks his hands back and I fall into his chest with a small yelp of pain.

"Just when I thought you were actually going to be nice to me, you go and hurt me." I stick my tongue out and the doorbell rings. I look up at Jim and Jim looks down at me and our eyes widen as we both realize what we are going to have to do.

"Who could be here? You told me you took the day off, Jim," Seb says with a questioning glance at the both of us.

"Fuck. Is this really fucking happening? I can't fucking believe this," Jim says.

"It is, Jimmy-Jim. Now, let's go."


	12. Chapter 12

Jim groans as I drag him and Seb down the stairs. I pull open the door to see an old man with gray hair holding a box of macaroni and cheese. He freezes as he takes in the image before him: one of the most frightening men in the world in a pink sparkly apron and the best sniper ever with their fingers stuck in some random teenage girl's hair. I wiggle my fingers at him and he comes back to the present.

"Um, hello, Mr. Moriarty, Mr. Moran, and Miss..." I smile softly. Time to fuck things up for Jim big time.

"Mrs., actually. Mrs. Moriarty. I'm Jimmy's wife." He stares and his eyes grow even wider. I can hear Seb trying to hold back his laughter behind me and can feel Jim's glare.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs. Moriarty, I didn't know that Mr. Moriarty was married. My apologies, and congratulations on your marriage." I smile and open the door wider.

"Thank you. Come in, it's rather chilly out, don't you think?" He nods and walks in.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name, Mr..."

"Marlin, but you can call me Joe."

"Hello, Joe. Don't worry, you didn't miss much at the wedding. A bird pooped on Jim's head when he was saying his vows, and Seb had to chase it down and shoot it because Jim was so mad." Seb is now red in the face from holding back his laughter, and Jim looks pissed as hell. I take the macaroni and cheese from Joe's hands and place it on the counter.

"Joe, would you mind helping these two get their fingers out of my hair? This is what happens when you try to teach two male criminals how to braid." He walks forward and begins untangling their fingers. He finishes within only a few moments. Jim hurries to take off the apron and escort Joe out the door. He mumbles something to him that must be a threat because Joe Marlin runs off without another word. Jim slams the door shut and Seb and I burst into hysterical laughter.

"That was not funny, Adalia," Jim says in a cold voice, walking slowly towards me

"Jim, it was fucking hilarious," Seb says, both of us still laughing. We both stop when Jim pins me against the wall. I close my eyes and clench my teeth as Jim digs a knee into my thigh. He strokes my cheek softly and leans in so his mouth is right next to my ear.

"Sorry, darling, but I never have been very good at playing nice. I don't want to hurt you anymore, though, so I'm not going to. But please do behave next time. It hurts me, you know, when you aren't a good little girl," he whispers gently into my ear.

"Do you really mean it, Jim? Because, if you don't, tell me. My thoughts are already getting all jumbled again, and I'm afraid it's going to happen again, Jim, I'm afraid that I'm going to lose it."

"Darling, I mean it. Do you know why? It's because I can't stand seeing you in pain anymore." He walks away and puts his apron back on. I stay against the wall, processing everything. I come to a conclusion: he's lying. I read it in his body language. He will hurt me again, so I have to try to do what he wants me to, because I don't think he'll hurt me unless I give him a reason to.

I walk into the kitchen so I can help Jim, who looks totally lost while trying to figure out how to boil water.

"Jim, you aren't supposed to boil water in the oven, you boil it on the stove," I exclaim as he attempts to put a pot of water inside the oven. He pulls it out quickly and looks at me, trying not to smile.

"I knew that, I was just trying to see if you were paying attention." I shake my head and laugh.

"No you weren't, you were trying to burn the house down." Seb walks in and takes the pot of water from Jim.

"I'll take care of this, Jim, you help Ad brush her hair," Seb says. I walk up the stairs with Jim and we sit down on the bed together.

"Don't get anything stuck in my hair, please." Jim rolls his eyes at me as he drags the brush through my knotted, long hair.

"That was one time, darling. I get my fingers stuck in your hair one time, and you can't let it go." I giggle and lean into his chest. I wish he could be nice all the time. When he's nice, I feel safe with him. He's good at manipulating people. He's so strong and warm and soft and he makes me feel happy when he does nice things and doesn't scream at me. I wrap my arms around him.

"Darling, as much as I love you treating me like a teddy bear, you're making it extremely difficult to brush your hair." I ignore this and hold him tighter.

"Why can't you be nice all the time? You're always so mean, and I hate you, but you be nice to me for half an hour, and suddenly, I feel safe with you, safe enough to hug you and trust you not to snap my neck."

"I promised you that I wasn't going to hurt you anymore, darling. I will be nice all the time." I frown and shake my head as he strokes my hair.

"I can spot a lie from a mile away, Jim. You're lying to me, and I know it, but I still want it to be true, and so that is why I am trusting you not to snap my neck right now. Please, just be nice for at least one day, okay? I can't take any screaming and yelling and verbal abuse right now. I need someone who will be nice and take care of me, so could you just pretend to be that person for one day?" He nods.

"I still need to brush your hair, though." I let go of him and he drags the brush through, humming a song under his breath. I giggle, because Jim Moriarty is singing 'Stayin' Alive' while brushing my hair and trying to be nice to me, all in a Westwood suit and a pink apron.

"He likes you, you know," I say.

"Hmm?"

"Seb. He likes you. You like him, too, but you don't want to tell him because you're afraid he won't love you. He does, though."

"You have to admit, he is pretty," Jim says, and I hear the smile in his voice.

"Who is," Seb asks, walking into the room. I look at Jim encouragingly. He widens his eyes and shakes his head slightly. I nod and smile, and he takes a deep breath.

"The most handsome man in the world. He's pretty hot. He's a criminal, too. I wish he liked me, though," Jim says softly. Seb squeals and sits down next to us. I can't help but think, Damn, Jim, that is smooth.

"Jimmy's got a crush! Tell me, what's his name?" He glances over to me and I nod slightly.

"Sebastian Moran." Seb blushes and looks at Jim.

"I like you too, Jim." I smile smugly.

"You do?"

"I tried to make it pretty obvious, but I guess you can't get anything through that thick skull of yours." I laugh at the pair of them.

"My skull isn't thick." He pouts slightly.

"It explains why your head is so big," I say, which earns an increase in Jim's pout.

"My head isn't big, is it, Sebby?" Seb smiles and pats Jim on the head.

"Your head is perfect. Okay, I came to tell you that breakfast is ready and so is Doctor Who." Jim groans.

"Are you really going to make me go through with that, darling," Jim asks me. I nod. We head down to the room with the giant telly, and I find myself very satisfied that another one of my real life OTPs became a thing.

A/N: Yay, the pool scene is coming up! That should be fun.

Also, in response to the last guest review, Jim didn't carve words into her face! It was on her hand the first night and on her arm in chapter 10. Not even Jim would do that- he thinks she's too beautiful for her face to be ruined, even though she describes herself as average. Just wanted to clear that up.


	13. Chapter 13

After two days, Jim has not been able to be nice to me anymore, even though I was a little angel. He doesn't physically harm me, though, instead going for emotional and mental abuse. He corners me and whispers that my sister is dead because of me, that my house blew up because of me, that my family is gone because of me. He comes into the bedroom with a picture of my aunt, laying on the ground with a bullet hole through her head. He says that's my fault, too. When I refuse to leave the bedroom, he smacks me across my face so hard I fall off the bed. He drags me down the stairs and tries to force me to eat, but I refuse to do that either. I don't want anything but silence. And not just silence from his actual voice, but the one inside my head that sounds exactly like him and shouts at me Your fault! All your fault! every time I think about my family. I spend two whole days huddled up in a little ball on the floor, refusing to sleep, refusing to eat, refusing to move. Jim pulls me up sometimes and pins me against the wall and kisses me, but I just scream at the top of my lungs until Seb comes to calm me down. Jim leaves me alone for a little while after Seb comes, but he always comes back, because seeing me this broken isn't enough, apparently.

Jim comes in and I don't move or acknowledge him. He scoops me up, holding me close to him, and I try to move away then. He just holds me closer.

"I'm so sorry, darling. It's my fault, not yours. I am an awful man, and none of this is your fault. I don't know if you're still in there, Adalia, but if you are, forgive yourself. Because this isn't your fault. Hate me for it. Please, just hate me," he pleads as he carries me down the stairs.

"I already hate you, Jim. I don't know what to think about myself, but I do hate you. Now put me the fuck down, you sick psycho." My voice is hoarse from not being used in a while, but it still sounds as strong and full of anger as I'd hoped it would. He smiles, just a little, as he continues carrying me down the hallways.

"I missed you, darling."

"I was in the bedroom this whole time. You know, you came in there. Now put me down, Jim."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. And I think I'll continue carrying you if you don't mind."

"I do mind, but I don't think you care. Where are we going?"

"The swimming pool."

"You don't own a pool, it's midnight, you can't swim, and you're still wearing your favorite suit. Why the hell are we going to a swimming pool?"

"Please watch your language, and we're meeting Sherlock."

"I thought you were dating Seb. Are you cheating on him with Sherlock? Are you and Sherlock secretly dating?"

"No, we're just meeting him there. I have business to discuss with him."

"Then why the fuck do I have to come? You hate it when I listen in to your business conversations."

"Darling, language."

"Sorry. Don't hurt me."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Why do I have to come, then?"

"Incentive for Sherlock not to shoot me."

"Sorry, why would Sherlock want to shoot you? Is it because he found out that you're in a relationship with him and Seb? And why the fuck do we have to meet up so late?"

"Darling, watch your language before I decide to take away your Doctor Who privileges."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I would and I will."

"Pleeeeeeeease don't?"

"If you curse again, I will."

"Fine, I'll watch my language. But why would Sherlock want to shoot you?"

"Because of reasons."

"What reasons?"

"Very good ones."

"Fine. But why are we meeting him so late at night?"

"I dunno."

"Why are we meeting him at the pool?"

"I dunno."

"What do you mean you're using me as 'incentive'?"

"Sorry, don't get mad about this, but I'm strapping you to another bomb." I sigh. I should've known it would be something like this.

"Are you going to blow it up?"

"Probably not." He slides me into the backseat of his car and then sits down next to me. I lay down and put my feet on his lap, making sure to get dirt on his suit.

"You little bitch."

"I thought I was darling."

"Not when you do this to my favorite suit. Get your feet off of me." I kick him in a place that makes him gasp and pull my feet back to the floor. He yanks my arm.

"Why'd you do that?"

"I'm still mad at you. Plus, you're strapping me to a bomb." He sighs and drops his hand back down.

"Okay, please tell me what your plan is."

"I'm kidnapping John Watson and strapping both of you to bombs. John is going to be wearing an earpiece and be repeating what I say, and he's going to be pointing a gun at you. It's a fake gun, don't worry. Are you okay with that?" I nod.

"Good girl. Then, when Sherlock is convinced John is me, I will come out, and cherish the look of surprise and confusion on Sherlock's face."

"And after that?"

"I dunno. I guess I'll just wing it." We stop in front of a restaurant and Seb climbs out. He comes back a few moments later, carrying John Watson, who looks very angry and confused. He gets shoved into the back, across from Jim and I, Seb climbs back in, and we drive off. John sees me first.

"Adalia, is that you? Has that guy up there kidnapped you, too?"

"Yes, but not today. Seb, did you scare him too badly?"

"Does that sound like me, Ad," Seb says, and I can almost hear how annoyed he is that he has to do a job this late.

"Suppose not. Did you tell him anything at all?" Seb shakes his head.

"How much am I allowed to tell him, Jim?" Jim just smiles and shakes his head.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"You can't be serious."

"I am. I'll tell him." I cross my arms and pout.

"Fine. But try to be nice, and, if you tell any major lies, I'm going to tell him the truth."

"I'm sorry, but, what the hell are you two talking about," John interrupts.

"Alright, I suppose I should introduce myself first. Jim Moriarty. Hi." John's eyes grow about ten times larger as he realizes he's just been kidnapped by the bomber him and Sherlock have been chasing down. He turns his eyes to me and I realize instantly what he's thinking: I'm Jim's actual daughter and I helped him with this.

"Before you ask, no, I'm not his daughter. He kidnapped me." Jim puts a hand on my thigh and rubs little circles with his thumb.

"Best decision I ever made." I push his hand off and he leaves it there.

"What are you going to do now," John asks, his voice showing no signs of fear. Very impressive. I was scared the first time I found out who I was dealing with without the drugs in me.

"You'll find out, Johnny-boy," Jim replies and I roll my eyes.

"It's going to be alright, Adalia, I won't let him hurt you," John says with a small smile in my direction.

"Thanks for the concern, John, but you're about six months late." Jim snorts and I glare at him. His eyes light up in excitement.

"Show him your arm, darling! And your hand!" Reluctantly, I move my hand toward John. He reads it, and the color fades from his face. I put my hand back in my lap. Jim leans close so he can whisper in my ear.

"Darling, you're being naughty again. Show the soldier boy your arm, too, or I will cut it off-"

"Jim, stop threatening her. God, she didn't move for two days, and you're already back to threatening her," Seb says. Still, Jim gives me a look that I know means that he will cut my arm off so I can see all the pretty red blood come out. I stick my arm out, and John is paler than me from reading it.

"Did he do that to you?" I nod and he makes a fist and nearly punches Jim, but I stick my hand in front of Jim's face just before his fist can make contact.

"Trust me, John, you don't want to do that. How do you think I got this in the first place?" John sinks back in his seat, the weight of my words sinking in, and Jim lightly puts a hand to my cheek.

"I love it when you boss people around, darling." I slap his hand off. He raises his eyebrows and presses his lips together.

"You shouldn't have done that." He slaps my cheek hard, and I nearly fall off the seat. I press both hands to the stinging flesh and scoot away from him on the seat. He scoots closer, and I am now trapped between him and the door.

"You're not getting away that easily," Jim says with a smirk. Of course not. Everything has to end with someone wishing they were dead with Jim.

"Jim, before you do anything, I have something to tell you: Your head is so much bigger than it should be. And I mean that in the literal sense. You have a big, fat head. Seb was lying to you when he told you it was perfect." John is staring at me with shock on his face, probably wondering how I can be sarcastic when this man may try to kill me. Jim, however, just sighs and pulls me close to him, forcing me to rest my head on his chest. He rubs circles on my arm, and I have to force myself not to trust him again.

"Sorry, darling. I was very mean, and I'm very sorry."

"No you're not. You never really are, are you? It's fine, though, I'm used to it." John is still looking very confused, but it still confuses me, so I'm not really in a position to explain it. We arrive at the swimming pool, and I get ready for the nightmare to begin.

 **Be prepared for several updates in this story today. I've got a lot written and I really just want to try to get some more published before the Christmas special. Read and review, please!**


	14. Chapter 14

Jim opens the door for John and I, and stops John to whisper something I can't quite make out, but is probably a threat in which I will be harmed if John misbehaves, judging by the way they both glance at me several times, John with fear in his eyes, Jim with exaggerated expressions. Jim takes my hand and forces me to walk into the dark swimming pool with him, knowing I won't bother trying to run. John, however, has to be dragged in by Seb, shouting to be let go the whole time. Jim flips on a light switch, and it gets bright enough to see where we're going, but still dark enough to make me uncomfortable.

On one side of the pool, Seb and John stand, yelling at each other. Jim stands next to me, and we both sit back and watch, each with different expressions, mine amused, Jim's annoyed and mad at the same time.

"I'm going to go over there and show Johnny-boy why he needs to listen. You stay here," Jim says, pushing me back slightly.

"Hang on, I can get this without even moving. Just watch." He shrugs and steps backwards and I clear my throat.

"Watson, stop arguing and do it! You're not going to change his mind," I shout at him. John turns to look at me disbelievingly.

"Adalia, you can't seriously be agreeing with these crazy people?"

"I don't want to put a bomb on as much as you don't want to, but there's no point in arguing. Jim doesn't like when people argue with him, I should know. And I'm the only one allowed to call Seb crazy. Just put it on, John, because I have to go home with him tonight and Jim likes to use me as a punching bag when he gets mad." He reluctantly puts the bomb and oversized jacket on, and I turn to face Jim.

"If you could refrain from punching me around tonight, I'd be very grateful."

"Very impressive, darling. Do I have to threaten you to get you to put this on, or are you going to be a good little girl and do as I say?" I roll my eyes and hold out my hand.

"Just give me the bloody jacket, Jim. It's fucking cold in here." He hands it to me and shakes his head with a disappointed expression.

"No Doctor Who for a whole day, now." I groan as I wrap both the bomb and the jacket around me.

"I didn't know you were serious about that. I'm going to die without Doctor Who." He kisses my cheek and I back away from him.

"I was one hundred percent serious. Besides, I thought you wanted to die."

"Not from fandom withdrawal. I'm telling Seb." He sticks his tongue out at me and I giggle at the ridiculousness of this entire situation.

"Pretty please don't take it away?" I bat my eyes at him.

"Stop it. You're not allowed to make adorable faces anymore. It clouds my judgement." I sigh and turn away, plopping down on the floor. He slides down next to me.

"Go away. I don't want to talk to you."

" I know you don't, and I don't want to talk to you. But I need somewhere to sit.." He twirls a strand of my hair around his long, thin finger and smiles brightly at me.

"Don't get your fingers caught in my hair again. Wouldn't be a very good first impression for Sherlock." He playfully tugs my curls before dropping his hand away. I stand up and join John at the place Jim wants us to wait at. We sit down on the bench together, and I notice how restless John is, his fingers tapping on the seat and leg bouncing up and down.

"John, it's going to be okay. Calm down. If Jim wanted you dead, you would be dead already. It's going to be okay," I say, trying to get him to stop moving, because he's getting on my last nerve.

"Adalia, how are you so calm right now? How can you be so calm around Jim Moriarty?"

"Because, John, after six months of being his prisoner, you really don't give a shit anymore. You don't care whether you live or die. And this isn't the worst thing he's done to me. Actually, he's in a pretty good mood right now." Jim pops around the corner with a disapproving look on his face.

"Two days." I stamp my foot.

"That's not fair, Jim! I didn't even know you were listening! That shouldn't count!" He shakes his head.

"Three, because I don't like your attitude right now." I groan and dig my nails into my palms so I don't scream at him before putting on my sweetest face.

"Jim, please can you forget about the last one? Pretty please with murder on top, don't do this to me?" He groans quietly.

"Darling, what did I say about you making adorable faces so you can get your way?"

"That it is absolutely not fair and clouds your judgement and kills you a tiny bit every time I do it."

"Good girl. One day." I smile and brighten up instantly.

"Thanks, Jim." He nods and walks away. I see John looking at me in confusion.

"What was that all about?"

"Jim despises it when I curse, and so he feels the need to punish me for it every time I do. He's started taking away my Doctor Who privileges for a day every time I do it. Three days is absolutely too much, though, so I had to do that."

"Sorry, did you just manipulate probably the scariest man alive by making puppy dog eyes at him?"

"Basically, yeah. It works every time." We sit in silence for the next half hour. John has to nudge me awake at least three times before we hear Sherlock's muffled shouts.

"Adalia, Moriarty says we have to go out now," John tells me, nudging me awake again. I yawn sleepily as we stand up and John puts the fake gun to my head.

"Really sorry about this," he mutters as we walk out.

"It's fine, it's not your fault." H nods slightly as we stop, Sherlock looking at John with an expression of shock and horror.

"Evening." Sherlock just keeps staring at John and I, probably wondering how John could possibly Moriarty and hoping he didn't get fooled by him.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

"John," he says quietly, looking bewildered. He looks at me and then back to John, hurt clear on his face.

"Bet you never saw this coming, did you, Sherlock?" All I want to do is scream at Jim for blowing holes in my ships.

"What… would you like… me to make… him say next? Gottle o' geer, gottle o' geer, gottle o'-"

"Stop it."

"Nice touch, this. The pool, where little Carl dies. I stopped him. I can stop John and Adalia, too." He sharply inhales, and I can tell he doesn't want to say whatever it is Jim is telling him to. After a pause, he says it quietly.

"Stop their hearts." I can almost see Jim doubled over with laughter at his own morbid and lame joke. I stand there with a bored expression. Sherlock raises an eyebrow at that and I shrug.

"Who are you?"

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call," Jim says from a back room. I hear his shoes clicking and him walking slowly towards us.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"

"Both," Sherlock replies, pointing a gun at Jim.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" He starts walking closer to us again.

"Jim? Jim the abusive father? Oh. Did I really leave such a… fleeting impression? Although I suppose, that was rather the point." Sherlock glances questioningly from the red dots on John and I and back to Jim.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." I'm trying to focus on the conversation, but I'm so bored. Bored, bored, bored. Nothing to do. I start tapping my fingers, desperate to do something, even if it's just a mindless action like this.

"I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse, of what I've got going on out there in the big, bad world. I'm a specialist, you see. Like you." I can't help it. I start tapping my foot, too, humming.

"Adalia, are you alright," John mutters so only I can hear.

"Yeah, just bored," I mutter back.

"You're strapped to a bomb."

"And I'm bored."

"Sorry, would you two like to share what you're talking about," Jim says, using the same voice my teachers used to use when we got caught talking in class.

"Not really."

"No, darling, please do tell me what you and Johnny-boy find so interesting that you decided to talk when I explicitly told you not to talk while we were here."

"Well, that's just the thing, Jim. It's not interesting. That's the problem. I'm bored."

"Can you be bored quietly, perhaps?"

"Can I go be bored with Sebby?"

"He's doing his job right now, you can't distract him."

"But Seb is more fun than you."

"And Seb is working right now."

"But I'm bored."

"And I don't care. Shut your little mouth and keep it like that."

"But Seb has candy. Can I go get the candy and then I'll stay down here and be quiet?" He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Seb does not carry candy with him at all times? He is not a piñata."

"I know, you can hit piñatas with bats and they won't do anything but give you candy. But if you hit Seb with a bat, he would murder you viciously."

"Yeah, okay, you have a point. But Seb doesn't have candy with him." I turn around and look up at where I know Seb is at, pointing his rifle at me and John.

"HEY, SEB! DO YOU HAVE ANY CANDY?!"

"YEAH!"

"WHAT KIND?!"

"GUMMY BEARS!" I turn back around and look at Jim, who looks very exasperated.

"My sniper is a weird, overgrown child."

"Can I go eat some gummy bears now?"

"No."

"Why not," I whine.

"We're sort of in the middle of something, darling." He gestures around the pool and I remember where I am.

"Oh. Right."

"Did you forget?"

"Maaaaaaaybe."

"You're wearing a bomb, how did you forget where you are," Sherlock asks, looking extremely confused and bewildered. I shrug.

"Gummy bears. Please, Jim? I'll be down in two seconds." He sighs and points to a set of stairs.

"You have thirty seconds to get them and get back down here. Take any longer, and I will make you regret it." I run as fast as I can up the stairs, until I fall on my face. I stand back up quickly and find Seb among the snipers.

"Seb, I need those gummy bears!"

"Hey, Ad, chill out."

"I only have thirty seconds!" He tosses me a package of gummy bears and I smile.

"Thanks, Sebby!" I run back down and find Sherlock and Jim in the middle of a conversation.

"Huh? Oh, that. The missile plans," Jim says, standing close to Sherlock now and smiling. He takes a small, black object that Sherlock is holding out to him and presses a kiss to it. Suddenly, he throws it in the pool.

"Boooooring," he says in a sing-song voice. "I could've gotten them anywhere." Jim turns to look at me.

"Thirty-eight seconds." He starts walking casually towards me and I prepare for him to punch me repeatedly. John jumps on his back before he can reach me.

"John, what are you doing," I exclaim. John might not be as smart as Sherlock, but he's not an idiot, either. He's got to see how stupid and dangerous that is. Everyone in the room ignores me and I throw my hands up in the air.

"Come to the pool, he said. You won't die, he said. No, I'll just sit here and eat my gummy bears and ignore the fact Seb will probably shoot John and then we'll all die. Thank you so much, Jim," I mutter, sitting on the floor next to Sherlock's feet and opening the gummy bears. Sherlock looks down at me with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. It fades when he realizes John is prepared to die for him, and might actually die for him. He looks back at them, and Jim is laughing.

"Good! Very good!"

"Your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up."

"Everyone fucking calls him Mr. Moriarty. Just fucking call him Jim," I mutter, searching through the pack for a red gummy bear and popping one in my mouth once I find it. Once again, everyone ignores me.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then again, people do get so sentimental about their pets. I mean, just last week, I bought Adalia ice cream, even though she was in a bad mood."

"You locked me in a closet for three hours and didn't feed me for four days! I had a panic attack and passed out!"

"Well, you should've listened to me when I told you to stop complaining about being hungry. Anyways, where was I?"

"Threatening John or something."

"No, I already did that part."

"Oh! You were about to explain why you don't care if Seb shoots John and we all die."

"That can't be right. Oh, I remember. You're so touchingly loyal, Johnny-boy. But you've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson." The laser moves off of John and onto my chest. I gasp.

"Plot twist!" Jim rolls his eyes and Sherlock and John look at me with confusion. I continue eating gummy bears. John lets go of Jim and backs away, hands raised in surrender. Jim smiles and brushes off his suit.

"D'you remember what kind of suit this is, darling?" I put a hand to my chin and squeeze my eyes shut in thought.

"Westwood!" Jim smiles and helps me up.

"Good girl. D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you."

"Oh, let me guess, I get killed," he says in a bored tone.

"Kill you? Um, no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyways, someday. I don't want to rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." His face turns to a snarl.

"I'll burn the heart out of you." He suddenly looks regretful. I raise my eyebrows but decide to save my questions for later. Jim puts a hand on my shoulder and looks at me.

"Maybe you, too. Not quite sure on that one yet. Anyways, we'd better be off. You look pretty tired. So nice to have had a proper chat, Sherly." Jim turns to leave but Sherlock says something.

"What if I was to shoot you now, right now?"

"Ooh, another plot twist." I sit back down next to Sherlock and start eating more gummy bears.

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." His eyes widen and he opens his mouth wide. I take the opportunity to try to throw a gummy bear in his mouth. It bounces off of his eyebrow. He ignores it.

"Because I'd be surprised, Sherlock, really I would. And just a teensy bit… disappointed. And, of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes." He looks expectantly at me but I just look down at my gummy bears, hoping he'll let me go. He doesn't and pulls me to my feet. I smirk and go limp, forcing him to drag me out of the building.

"Way to ruin my dramatic exit," he grunts as I finally stand up outside.

"Burn the heart out of you? What exactly does that mean?"

"Honestly? I have no idea, but it sounded dramatic and it affected Sherlock."

"Uh-huh. Can you hold this for a second?" I hand him the gummy bears and he nods. I stretch my arms above my head and crack my back. I flash a smile at Jim before I take off, sprinting as fast as I can through the pool parking lot. I take long strides and lean forward, determined to finally get away from him and refusing to think about what will happen if he catches me.

"ADALIA!" He's chasing after me and he's faster than I thought and _how the hell is it possible to run that fast in a suit and dress shoes?_ It doesn't matter, I'm not paying attention to him, I'm running faster now, like my life depends on it, because it might. I've never tried to escape before. What's the punishment for that? Death? That might not be too bad, at least I'll be away from him. No, stop thinking like that, you're going to make it, you have to. _Come on, Li_ , Jamie says in my head. _Come on, run like you blinked_ , The Doctor's voice says, and I briefly wonder why fandom references are something I can't help but think, even at a time like this. I stop wondering as I get closer to the street, closer to freedom. Close enough to see headlights on the road, still far enough away that I don't know if I'll make it. And I'm running, running to freedom, running from him, running. Breathing heavily and nearing the end of the parking lot, where I will run to the nearest police station. Where would that be? Scotland Yard? Yeah, probably. Take the busiest roads, public places are better, more witnesses.

And then I'm _not_ running anymore, even though I'm _trying_ to, and his hand is gripping my bicep tightly and his face is one of pure anger and I'm struggling against his grip, struggling to get free, because I was so close and _no,_ I don't want it to end like this, running for freedom on a whim and my last meal half a bag of gummy bears and, _yeah_ , I did want to die earlier, but I didn't want it to be painful, but he's mad, so of _course_ it'll be painful. I start kicking at his shins and trying to elbow him in the stomach. He pins my arms to my sides, and I'm just _so_ frustrated because I was _that_ close to freedom. He slaps me hard across the face and I let out a little cry of pain as my vision turns black in the corners and I'm slumping over, and, _dammit, if you want me dead, just kill me already_. And I'm sinking to my knees, because he's pushing me down, and then there's something cold and metal on my forehead and I think it's a gun, but I'm not looking, just waiting.

"Give me one good reason," he says in a low and dangerous voice. "That I shouldn't shoot you through the brains right now." And I'm not answering, just _laughing_ , and I know I'm making him mad when I shouldn't be, but, _God, he's an idiot._ And then he cocks the gun and I wait for the bullet that will end all of this, the bullet that will set me free.

"Go on, one good reason, Adalia."

"I don't have any," I say with a shrug. "You should probably just shoot me now and call it a day. It would really make things easier on your part. I mean, the pros definitely outweigh the cons, by far. I mean, pro: you don't have to deal with my sarcasm. Con: see, there are no cons. So, from a business point of view- you know what, just shoot me." He puts the gun under my chin and tilts my head up so I'm looking at him. His face is blank and empty, but his eyes are blazing with anger.

"You're on my last nerve. I really should shoot you right now. Now is not the time for sarcasm, because I am one hundred percent serious about shooting you. One. Good. Reason."

"I'm not being sarcastic, Jim. Just pull the trigger." He switches the safety back on and slides the gun in his pocket. He kicks me hard in the stomach and all the breath is knocked out of my chest. I slump over, trying to catch my breath, and he pulls me to my feet.

"Naughty little girl," he growls as he drags me back towards the pool. "It's not nice to run away from Daddy, you know. And it's not safe, either. You never know who's waiting on those streets to kill you."

"Half of 'em probably work for you," I mutter as I stumble over my feet. He shakes his head.

"Nope. They work for other people, people who would keep you and torture you until I came to rescue you. And you know what? I don't think I would rescue you. I think I'd just leave you there to slowly bleed to death. And I would laugh. I would laugh at you, screaming for help that won't ever come. I would laugh at you thinking I'm going to come save your sorry ass after you left me."

"Or, y'know, maybe I'm an independent woman who is perfectly capable of keeping herself safe while walking alone on a street."

"Really? How did you get into this situation in the first place, darling? Just jog my memory."

"If I recall correctly, you dragged me into the car."

"You got in willingly, sweetheart."

"No, you wouldn't let go of my hand, and you were a lot stronger than me."

"You made it too easy. You didn't even try to punch me. It's really no fun when you don't put up a fight."

"Oh, so very sorry that I wasn't willing to punch a stranger that I thought was going to walk with me to a 'great café' because they 'owed me another drink'. Never did get my damn drink."

"Mmm, yes you did."

"Oh, right, the crappy hot chocolate that turned out to be drugged."

"And then the tea later."

"Oh, right, the tea I didn't want to drink in your mansion and only did after you slapped me. That tea?"

"Yes, that tea. Not my fault you're a rude guest."

"Not my fault you're a rude kidnapper."

"Compared to some other kidnappers, I'm very polite and kind. Did I ever once put duct tape over your mouth? Do I tie your hands behind your back? No, I don't. You're very welcome."

"Oh, thank you so much, Jim, for being above the other kidnappers."

"You're welcome, darling."

"That was sarcasm, Jim. You should've just shot me, then you wouldn't've had to deal with it anymore."

"Yes, but if I shot you, then I'd be giving you what you want. You suffer more by living."

"And here I am, thinking you care about me."

"Honey, I don't care about anyone, especially not rude little girls who try to run away from me."

"Than why am I not laying on the ground, barely breathing and half unconscious?"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm just waiting until we get home. I've got something more important I have to do first."

"Brilliant. Now I get to live in suspense, waiting for you to half-kill me."

"That's rather the point, darling."

"It's a mean thing to do."

"I know. That's why I'm a criminal. I'm very good at being mean."

"I've witnessed it first-hand."

"Alright, shut up, now."

"What? Wh-" A slap to the face.

"Well that was unnecessary," I grumble.

"It was very necessary. Stay quiet and walk with me." I stay rooted to the spot. Jim rolls his eyes and carries me to the building.

"What are we doing?"

"I've decided to surprise Sherlock and John by coming back. Don't talk."


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry if all these updates are annoying you, but I'm an impatient little thing. Read and review, please!**

"Can I wait in the car," I ask as he starts to walk towards the building again.

"Nope. I can't trust you by yourself." I sigh.

"I've lived with you for six months, and I've only tried to run away once. Can't you trust me?"

"The one time you tried to run away was literally two minutes ago. I'm not an idiot. I can't let you get away, you know too much and I've started to like you."

"So you do like me. I knew it." I sneeze at least eight times and Jim holds me farther away from him.

"You okay?" I shake my head as I sneeze again and rub my eyes.

"I have bad allergies. The mix of pollen and your disgusting cologne triggered them, and my eyes and nose are itchy now." I sneeze again and Jim pouts.

"Sebby told me my cologne smelled good."

"I'm sure it does, but did you have to marinate in it? It's strong enough without you using a whole bottle."

"Did you ever think that maybe your nose is just sensitive and I use a normal amount?" Jim sounds really hurt right now, which is funny, because I call him a sick and twisted psycho and he doesn't even blink an eye, but I insult his appearance and he pouts like a child. I pat him on the cheek.

"Sorry, Jimmy. I'm just annoyed that my allergies chose right now to act up." He kisses my forehead and sets me down before walking through the doors, pulling me along behind him. I sneeze again, alerting Sherlock and John of our presence. They both groan and Sherlock points his gun at Jim again.

"Sorry, boys! I'm soooooooooo changeable! It is a weakness with me, but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness." He smiles and strolls forward, pulling me along.

"You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind," he says, voice rising and falling in pitch. Sherlock looks at me, and I see in his eyes that he's asking if I'm okay with dying as long as it means Jim dies, too. I nod. He looks to John and John does the same.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours," Sherlock says, pulling back the hammer on the gun. Jim smiles like he expected this, but Sherlock slowly lowers his aim to the bomb laying on the ground, the one John wore earlier. We stand in silence for a minute, tension thick in the air, until Jim's phone goes off. Sherlock and John don't know where the music is coming from, of course, so they look around in confusion. Jim sighs in exasperation, like he regularly gets interrupted by his phone when he's about to commit homicide.

"Could you answer that for me, darling," he mutters, handing me the phone. I shrug and answer it.

"Hello?"

"Who's this," a gruff male voice asks. I look at the caller ID. Jamie M. Could be a girl or boy. I look to Jim and he mouths 'secretary'.

"Mr. Moriarty's secretary."

"Put him on the phone." I look to Jim and mouth 'it's for you', which makes him roll his eyes.

"Tell them to schedule an appointment," he whispers.

"Sorry, sir, but you'll have to schedule an appointment."

"Put him on or I'll track you down and shoot you." I cover the mouthpiece on the phone.

"Jim, he just gave me a death threat."

"Tell him he can schedule an appointment for tomorrow at around noon," he whispers. I nod and go back to the phone.

"Very sorry, sir, but the only available time is tomorrow at around noon. Business hours are over."

"Give him the fucking phone, you dumb bitch!" I cover the mouthpiece again.

"Jim, he hurt my feelings and shouted and cursed at me."

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'give him the fucking phone, you dumb bitch.'"

"Tell him not to talk to you like that and he can meet me tomorrow at three instead of noon." I go back to the phone again.

"Mr., I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to me like that. And it appears the opening for noon has been filled up, you'll have to come at around three-"

"For God's sakes, tell him I have Jamie." I sigh and cover the mouthpiece once more.

"Jim, he says he has Jamie." His face pales and he snatches the phone from me.

"Hullo? Yes, of course it is, what d'you want?" I can't make out what the man is saying, but Jim obviously doesn't like it.

"SAY THAT AGAIN! Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you, and I will _ssssssssskin_ you. Wait." He lowers the phone.

"Sorry. Wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer," Sherlock asks sarcastically.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." Jim grabs my hand and walks outside with me, snapping his fingers loudly to signal to his snipers to pack up and leave.

"I swear to God, if you hurt her, I'll turn you into shoes," he whispers viciously into the phone. He pauses to listen to the man on the phone, who I assume is not Jamie M.

"I'll pay whatever your price is, but you return her, unharmed. Do you understand? If there's even a single scratch on her, I will slaughter all of you." Another short pause.

"No, you drop her back off where you took her from, tonight. I want proof that she is there, and then I'll give you your money." He pauses again to listen while we climb into the car.

"Are you even listening to me, you poor excuse for a human? At the school. I will make you regret it if you don't do as I say." He pauses again.

"No, you can't have my secretary in exchange for Jamie! Out of the question. You can have the money and your lives in exchange for her." Small pause and then a frustrated sigh.

"Yes, uh-huh, nice doing business with you. Don't contact me again after you return her." He hangs up and Seb climbs in the driver's seat.

"Who called, Jim?"

"Someone who took Jamie," he mutters, looking pale and angry. Seb clenches his jaw and looks very dangerous.

"Someone took Jamie?"

"Yeah. They're returning her tonight. Poor fools think I'm actually going to let them live. They're going to return her and I'm going to murder them all."

"Why exactly did you have Ad answer the phone?"

"She's my new secretary," he says brightly, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I push it off.

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, alright, fine. You're not even that good of a secretary anyways."

"Jim, who's Jamie M.?" He sighs and shuts the door of the car.

"Someone you'll meet eventually."

"Seb, who's Jamie M.?"

"Not telling you who she is."

"I set you and Jim up, and after only three days, you don't care about me any more." I sneeze again and growl out of frustration. Stupid allergies. Jim chuckles and brings me closer to him, and I rest my head on his shoulder. Seb catches a glimpse of this in the rearview mirror.

"Ad, don't you go stealing my boyfriend," Seb says teasingly.

"You can keep him," I say. I turn to Jim.

"Jamie M. Who is she and why will I be meeting her?" Jim rolls his eyes and pulls a needle from his pocket. I tense. He strokes my hair.

"Don't worry, there are absolutely no side effects. I had it tested this time, just to be sure. Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise. Just relax," he mumbles. I reluctantly hold my arm out, and he jabs the needle in it. I drift off into a world of blackness and no dreams.


	16. Chapter 16

"Hey, Ad," Seb whispers to me two weeks after the pool incident. I rub my eyes and squint at him. He motions for me to leave the room quietly, so I climb out of the bed, being careful not to wake Jim up. I close the door and stretch as I walk into the hallway.

"Seb, it's… It's three thirty in the mor… morning," I say through my yawns. Why the hell do I have to be woken up so early?

"Yeah, I know."

"Why am I up at three thirty in the morning?"

"Because Jim isn't."

"Is today the day you help me escape from him? Because I have no problem with being up this early if that's the reason." He shakes his head.

"No, Ad. You know I can't." I sigh.

"Then why the fuck did you wake me up this fucking early?!"

"Ad, shush! You're going to wake Jim up."

"Why. Am. I. Awake?"

"Yeah, about that. I kinda need your help."

"What with? Couldn't it have waited?"

"No. It's Jim's birthday."

"So?"

"He needs a cake." I raise an eyebrow.

"So?"

"I tried to bake it, but I couldn't."

"Where do I come in?"

"I need your help making Jim's cake." I put my hands on my hips.

"What makes you think I know how to bake a cake?"

"You're a woman. I thought all women knew how to bake."

"That's very sexist, Seb. Just because I'm a female does not mean I know how to bake a cake. That is not a skill that all women possess."

"So you can't bake a cake?" I roll my eyes and head towards the stairs.

"Of course I can, Seb. Aunt Clara taught me how." I flinch and freeze when I remember Aunt Clara. Aunt Clara's dead and it's all your fault, a soft voice with an Irish accent whispers in my ear. I cover my ears with my hands as a chorus of All your fault! rings through my ears. I shake my head, trying to make it stop.

"Hey, Ad, calm down. Ad, whatever you're hearing, it'll be okay." I nod and remove my hands from my ears as the shouts stop. I go down the stairs, pretending everything's alright, and freeze at the entrance of the kitchen. Bowls and pans filled with runny liquids, batter so thick it could be classified as dough, and flour lay all over the counters. I sigh and shake my head.

"You suck at this, Seb. Get me an apron," I order, pulling my hair back already. Might as well do something, even if it's for the psycho. He nods and hands me a pink, frilly apron. The same one Jim wore and I thought burned. Raise an eyebrow as I put it on, but don't say anything otherwise.

I get to work, mixing the batter and pouring it into the pans and ignoring the very generic recipe. Seb just stands and watches, fetching me ingredients when necessary. I finally stick the cake in the oven and set the timer before setting to work on breakfast. Seb raises an eyebrow.

"Ad, all you needed to do was the cake."

"Yeah, but you would burn the kitchen down if you even attempted bacon. Let me handle this. Go do… whatever it is you do when you're not aiming a gun at people." He shrugs and leaves the kitchen, leaving me alone to work. I whip up two pounds of bacon easily, then make enough pancakes to end world hunger. I scramble up two dozen eggs and pull the cake out just in time.

"Hey, Seb," I ask, walking into the living room where Seb is watching some show about guns.

"Yeah?"

"What's his favorite color?"

"Gold." I roll my eyes.

"Of course it would be. Gold's not an actual color, though."

"I dunno. Blue, probably." I nod and go back to the kitchen and make some blue icing and spread it evenly on the cake. I write in cursive: Happy Birthday, Psycho! I smile down at my handiwork and take off my apron, finally done cooking. I glance at the clock. Six thirty. I sigh and flop down next to Seb on the couch.

"You owe me one. Or, like, twenty. Helping me escape would be a good payment."

"Ad, I still can't do that. You know that." I shrug.

"It was worth a shot. So, what's your present? Y'know, seeing as you did none of that." He smiles.

"We're going out today. To a pub. Jim's been bugging e about it for a while now, he wants to try doing something ordinary couples do. Can't figure out why, he hates ordinary people."

"So what am I supposed to do all day?"

"Stay here, watch telly or something."

"Jim says he doesn't trust me alone. He told me he's worried I'll ruin the mansion or try to escape. That's why he made me come to the last job he went on with you, the one in the appliance store."

"You won't do that, will you?" I shrug.

"Not like I could if I wanted to. There are too many guards, too many people who would be happy to call Jim and have him come back here so he could torture me even more than he already does. Don't worry, I'm not stupid enough to do that." He relaxes and we watch the show, me asking him what something means every once in a while. I turn it off just a few minutes before seven, so Seb can be there when Jim's alarm clock goes off. He goes upstairs and I wait on the couch.

I hear muffled voices from upstairs, then footsteps growing gradually louder.

"Morning, darling," Jim says, on the couch next to me before I can even register that him and Seb are in the living room.

"Happy birthday, psycho." He scowls at me.

"Name calling on my birthday?"

"Yes." He shrugs and then sniffs loudly.

"I smell food."

"Yeah, I made you cake," Seb says. I cross my arms and glare at him.

"No, you attempted to make cake, then woke me up at three thirty in the morning to make the cake for you." Seb shrugs with a smile.

"Minor details, Ad."

"You can bake," Jim asks with surprise etched on his face.

"'Course I can."

"And you made me a cake for my birthday?" I nod and Jim surprises me by wrapping me in a warm hug. It feels nice.

"Thank you, darling. That was sweet of you."

"No problem. I haven't baked in a while, so I may have gone overboard and made a three tier cake. Whoops." Still smiling, Jim releases me from his hug and stands up.

"We can't have cake for breakfast, no matter how good it probably tastes, so I guess we could have cereal or something," Jim says brightly. Seb shakes his head at him.

"I wouldn't eat cereal if I were you. Ad made breakfast, too." Jim turns to me with a raised eyebrow and I nod.

"I made pancakes and bacon and eggs. Like I said, I went overboard." Jim doesn't complain about it and we walk to the dining room together, where I've laid out plates with mounds of food on them. We sit down and Jim and Seb start complimenting my cooking immediately.

"Oh my God, Ad, this is frickin' delicious," Seb tells me through a mouthful of bacon. I laugh and shake my head at him as he crams more into his mouth.

"Thanks, Seb. Could you possibly chew with your mouth closed?" He opens his mouth to reveal chewed up bacon and I squeeze my eyes closed, still laughing.

"You're so gross." Jim is laughing too. He picks up a piece of bacon and eyes it warily, not eating it.

"Something wrong with it, Jim?"

"I just don't like bacon is all. I appreciate the thought, but I've never liked bacon. It's just gross." I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Have you ever had good bacon? Not the rubbery stuff they make at restaurants, like, real bacon?" He shakes his head at me.

"I thought bacon was supposed to be rubbery." I shake my head.

"Bacon is supposed to be crunchy. Try it, I bet you'll like it." He looks at it for a moment longer before cautiously nibbling the end. He chews for a moment, then picks up a few more pieces and eats them all.

"Thirty-five years I've missed out on bacon, all because I never had good bacon. Adalia, you are amazing," Jim says through his own mouthful of bacon. I smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

"Seriously, can't anyone chew with their mouths closed? You guys are nasty." Jim an Seb laugh at me and we continue breakfast, talking and joking as we eat. It ends up with both of them over-eating because they like the food so much and me laughing as Jim groans and holds his stomach.

"I see what you were trying to do, darling," Jim says with a serious expression. It looks like he's done joking around with me after all, and he's going to torture me as a birthday present to himself.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You were trying to kill me by making me eat so much of your delicious food. It nearly worked, too, but I have to be able to fit in my suits." His smile is back and I let out a quiet sigh of relief as he stands up and kisses my forehead.

"I'm going upstairs to get dressed, I'll be down in a few minutes." He heads upstairs and Seb eats a few more bites of pancake before abandoning it.

"Ad, I underestimated your cooking skills. This was great." I smile at him.

"Thanks, Seb." He goes into the kitchen to get the cake. He puts it on the table and looks at me with an annoyed expression.

"Really?"

"What," I ask with fake innocence.

"'Happy Birthday, Psycho!' on his cake? Ad, I thought you were actually being nice to him."

"I am being nice. I made him cake and I decorated it."

"You called him 'psycho'."

"That's what he is. Besides, he calls me darling all the time."

"He doesn't write it on your birthday cake!"

"No, he just carves it on my arm. Look, Seb, don't expect me to act like everything is sunshine and roses, because it's not. He's a psycho, he knows it. Why can't I write it on his cake? He calls himself psycho." Seb opens his mouth to argue further, but Jim comes down in one of his suits, stopping our argument abruptly.

"Hey, Sebby, darling. I thought I heard shouting? Is something wrong?" I shake my head at him and he quirks an eyebrow before noticing the cake. His face lights up in a grin after he reads my decorating and he pulls me in another hug.

"Darling, you have got to be the sweetest little girl I know." I smirk at Seb, who looks pissed that I was right and Jim is happy about the decorating. Jim lets go and hugs Seb.

"And you have got to be the cutest guy I know. What are we going to do on my birthday, Sebby dear?" Jim looks up at Seb with a childish grin and Seb grins back, cupping Jim's face in one of his hands.

"We're going out, Jim. On a date." Jim quirks an eyebrow.

"And what about Adalia? She can't stay here alone."

"I'll be fine, there are at least thirty guards who'd love to call you if I try to run," I add in, hoping that I'll be relatively alone for the first time in a very long while. Jim turns to look at me with a skeptical expression.

"You told me yourself that you'd leave here t the first available opportunity, darling. Forgive me if I don't trust that."

"Surely you don't want to stay here again on a day you'd rather be spending with your boyfriend, Jim. Go, I promise I'll be here and the mansion will be intact when you return." I gently push him and Seb towards the door.

"No, darling, you can't just stay here alone, I don't trust-"

"For crying out loud, Jim, I promise I won't fucking run! Why would you care, anyways? You could find me and bring me back or have me shot in a matter of minutes! Go!" I shove their coats in their faces and slam the door on a giggling Seb and wary Jim. I watch them climb into one of Seb's cars out the window before I turn and walk to the living room. I switch on the radio, turning on my playlist, and grab my sketchbook, plopping down on the couch. I settle in for a quiet day by myself, trying to ignore the whispers in the back of my mind that chant awful things non-stop.


	17. Chapter 17

The door slams open at nearly ten that night and I jump up. I run to the door to find Jim and Seb leaning heavily on each other, laughing and muttering about nothing. I raise an eyebrow at them. Definitely drunk.

"Hey, Ad."

"Hello, Sebastian," I say sternly. Really, they shouldn't be going out and getting themselves this drunk. And it's probably weird for me to be mad about them getting this drunk, but I feel protective of them for some reason.

"I told you she'd get mad," Jim mutters to Seb, which makes them both sigh dramatically.

"Get in her, you two idiots," I hiss, opening the door wider so they can walk through.

"Heeeeeeeeeyyyyy, darling. You didn't leave, then? You like it here?"

"No, Jim, I thought it was very clear how much I despise this place. I didn't leave because some guys with guns were standing outside the door all day. I didn't feel like getting shot." Jim shrugs and smiles like a five year old. Seb starts giggling wildly.

"Ad, Ad, Ad, Ad. Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"I don't know, Sebastian."

"Because you can only wear purple on Tuesday!" Jim laughs along with Seb and I slam the door shut as I lead hem to the living room.

"Really, it's a wonder you two didn't manage to get kidnapped by one of Jim's many enemies. Walking around drunk in the streets, I'm surprised you even found your way back. You two are fucking idiots, you know that?"

"Watch your language, darlllllllllllllllllllliiiiiiiiiiiiiing. I'm not an idiot." Jim pouts at me and I throw a pillow at him.

"Why do you care, anyways? You hate me. If I died, I thought you'd be happy," Jim says, and I decide to ignore it because I'm really not sure. Seb slumps over and lets out a snore, and I realize he's unconscious. Great. I can deal with a drunk Jim all alone now.

"You're an idiot, Jim. You could've gotten killed, and it's weird, because I wouldn't be happy you died, but I definitely don't like you, and maybe I just have Stockholm. I-I don't know what's wrong with me, you make me happy sometimes, and it's really hard to remember how mean you are when you hug me and tell me I make good bacon. I don't know what's wrong with me, Jim," I spew out, glad he probably won't remember this tomorrow. He smiles sympathetically and hugs me, patting my head.

"It's alright. Don't cry. You're too pretty to cry." I smile and push him off of me.

"Come on, you need to go to bed before you hurt yourself," I say, trying to make him stand up while he tries to make me sit back down. I finally give in and sit back on the couch next to Jim, who hugs me again and forces me to rest my head on his chest. He smells badly of beer.

"Jim, let go of me," I say. My voice is muffled because my face is now on his shoulder. Jim is a weird drunk.

"No. You're mine. I have to hold you so all of the other criminals know not to steal you." I laugh at how serious he sounds.

"Jim, we're in your living room. The only two people awake right now are you and I. There are no other criminals here. Let go of me." He holds me closer and I laugh again.

"Nooooooooooo. You're miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Don't laugh at me, Adalia. Stop it, this isn't funny. I'm protecting you." I laugh again.

"I can't breathe. Let go." He lets me move my head back slightly and I look up at him.

"Jim, you need to go to bed. You're going to end up hurting yourself or me. Go to sleep."

"Nooooooooooo."

"Yes."

"No."

"Alright, fine. Don't touch the stove." I reach for my sketchbook, but Jim picks it up before I can and starts looking at the drawings. I try to snatch it off of him.

"Jim, give that back!"

"Why are they all so dark and scary?"

"That's how a lot of things look to me, now."

"There's one of me. Why do I look so mean?"

"Because that's how you look before you hurt me."

"There's another one. I look happy and kind in that one. Why?"

"That's how you look when you're not screaming at me. Please give me my sketchbook back." Jim hands it back to me, then leaves the room, stumbling over his own feet. I go back to drawing, only to be interrupted a few minutes later.

"Darling, how do you work the glue gun? I can't- AH, MOTHERFUCKER!" I jump up and rush to the kitchen, where Jim is standing next to the table, holding his hand, with my glue gun dropped on the floor. I sigh and shake my head.

"What do I do? I tell you to go to bed before you hurt yourself, and you use a hot glue gun while drunk." I walk over to him and try to take his burned hand, but he holds it away from me.

"Jim, give me your hand. Give me your hand, you burned it and need help." He reluctantly holds his hand out and I lead him to the sink, where I hold it under cold water.

"It huuuuuuuuuuurts," he whines to me as I wrap it in a towel.

"I bet it does. Why were you trying to use my glue gun?"

"I wanted to."

"Jim, answer me, why were you trying t use my glue gun?"

"I wanted to glue my hands together."

"Why?"

"It seemed like a good idea."

"It wasn't, you idiot. Aren't you supposed to be some sort of criminal genius?"

"I am."

"You're an idiot in hair gel and suits. Let's go, you're going to bed." He doesn't protest as I drag him up the stairs and push him into his bedroom.

"Go to sleep, don't hurt yourself."

"Goodnight, darling," he whispers with a smile.

"Goodnight, Jim," I say with a sigh. I close the door and head downstairs to clean up his messes and wonder how mad he'll be tomorrow, and how many bruises he'll add to me because he has a headache.


	18. Chapter 18

Today is the first day of June, the day that I would be getting out of school if Jim let me go to school. Unfortunately, he doesn't, so today is just another day spent wondering what I'd be doing if I hadn't gone to Sherlock's flat on October fifth. I wander around the mansion, searching for Jim, since Seb is away on a job and won't be back until tomorrow. I find him in his office. Bored because he took away Doctor Who and library privileges until Seb gets back, I decide that getting screamed at is better than not doing anything.

"Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim!" He whips his head around.

"What could possibly be so important that you have to interrupt me?" I pout.

"Sorry. Never mind, I'll just go." I turn, but Jim grabs my arm and spins me around so I have to face him. He pushes me against the wall, brushing my hair out of my eyes, and I suddenly regret my decision to bother him to relieve me of my boredom.

"I'm sorry, darling, I'm just waiting for someone important, and it's making me nervous." He presses a kiss to my cheek and lets me go. I sigh in relief.

"What is it you needed to tell me?"

"We're out of Oreos. Tell Seb to pick some up before he comes back, or I will refuse to watch Doctor Who with him ever again." He chuckles slightly.

"James Moriarty, this is not a laughing matter. Oreos are very important to me, and I don't appreciate you laughing at my one true love." He raises his hands in defense and types a quick text to Seb about my threat.

"Who are you waiting for, anyways? I've never seen you this nervous before." He shakes his head and the doorbell rings. He jumps up and practically runs to the door, deciding to let me answer it at the last second. I shrug and throw the door open. A girl with black hair slicked back into a high messy bun and big brown eyes stands on the doorstep, smiling. Her smile fades when she sees me standing there. I look her up and down and deduce she's about my age. Why would a thirteen year old girl want to come see Jim Moriarty?

"Hi, who are you," she asks. I note that her accent is American and sounds like it came from the same part of the US that mine did, southern Jersey. I open my mouth to answer, but Jim pops up behind me and pushes me to the side slightly. The girl screams when she sees him, not in fear, but out of joy, it looks like. I raise my eyebrows as she throws his arms around his neck. He hugs her back, pulling her inside. I shut the door and turn back in time to hear their conversation.

"Daddy, I missed you so much while I was gone. I wish you didn't have to send me so far away for school. But I'm here now, and so it can be just the two of us for the rest of the summer!" My jaw drops. Daddy? Is this Jim's daughter? Does Jim have a daughter?

"I missed you, too, Jaymie. But, um, there might be a third person involved," Jim says nervously. The girl- Jaymie, I guess- giggles.

"Well, yeah, I already counted Uncle Seb in."

"Um, then four people." He rubs the back of his neck nervously, and I think he might actually be afraid.

"Who," Jaymie asks slowly.

"Adalia." Jim gestures to me and I nervously wiggle my fingers. If Jim is actually her dad and she's anything like him, then I don't want to make her angry. She notes the fear on my face and smiles kindly at me.

"Jaymie Moriarty," she says, shaking my hand.

"Oooohhhhhh. I get it. Jaymie M. Okay. Adalia Shonley, by the way, pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine. So what did you do to deserve meeting my dad?" My face blushes and I look up at Jim. He doesn't look mad that she's talking about him like that.

"I'm not sure, actually. I spilled hot chocolate on his suit one day, and here I am." Jaymie turns to look at Jim, who looks guiltily at the ground.

"Dad, did you kidnap her?"

"Maybe," he mumbles to his shoes.

"Dad."

"Yes." She sighs.

"How long ago?"

"I don't really know-"

"October fifth," I answer. She looks at me with pity etched on to her features.

"You've been stuck here with him for eight months?" I nod. Her eyes widen and she looks very scared.

"Have you hurt her, Dad?" Jim nods. Her eyes narrow and her voice gets low and dangerous, like Jim's when I'm in trouble.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing, really. I mean, just a few punches and slaps here and there, and occasionally kissing her to make her afraid. That's it," he murmurs, still to the ground. Jaymie turns to look at me again.

"What did he really do?" Jim shakes his head so I can see him do so over Jaymie's shoulder.

"That's it," I say, trying to sound believable. She rolls her eyes.

"Dad, please stop threatening Adalia from behind my back. Please tell me what he really did."

"Well, what he said, just…pretty much daily. Um, he strapped me to a bomb twice, but that didn't really scare me. And, um…" I trail off, not wanting to show her the scars.

"And?" I bite my lip and hold out my hand and arm. She looks furious and turns back to Jim.

"Father dear, did you do that?" Jim nods. She looks like she's about to reprimand him like he's a small child, but she sighs and shakes her head.

"Where's Uncle Seb?"

"Picking up Oreos," Jim replies, looking Jaymie in the eyes now instead of down at the floor. Jaymie raises her eyebrows.

"Neither of you like Oreos."

"Adalia does. She threatened to never watch Doctor Who with him again if he came home without them."

"Stop trying to make jokes, I'm still mad at you."

"That wasn't a joke, Adalia really said that." Jaymie looks at me approvingly, much like Jim did on Christmas when he found out I'd stolen his credit card.

"Impressive." I smile back slightly.

"Well, I'm going to go get unpacked. Try not to kill Adalia while I'm gone. Don't hurt her, either. Just scream loudly if he gets mad, Adalia, and I'll come as fast as I can." She turns and walks up the stairs, probably to her bedroom.

"Um, I'm just going to go be bored in the library…" Jim shakes his head with a miniature smile.

"No, you're not. I haven't forgotten. Go be bored in one of the hallways or something, I have to go and try to make my daughter forgive me." I clos my eyes and shake my head with a little sigh.

"You're clueless, aren't you? Do you have no idea how these things work? You have at least ten people here who can unpack for her. She's not unpacking. She doesn't want to see you, she's still mad. Let her cool down a little, then talk to her when she's thinking straight." Jim frowns.

"How do you know about these things?"

"My little sister, Jamie, got mad at me all the time. She would lock her bedroom door so I couldn't get in. I'd have to wait until I could talk to her without her insulting me to apologize. Just trust me on this. I'm going to go talk to her, I'll let you know when she's calmer."

"You just said that she needed to cool down and she probably locked her bedroom door. Why would she want to talk to you?" I roll my eyes.

"She needs someone to vent to, it's not good to be alone when you're mad at someone."

"Geez, it's like there's some kind of secret language only teenage girls can understand, where you can get 'I don't want my dad to talk to me, but I need someone to talk to' from a single phrase."

"Good thing I'm here to interpret for you." I dash up the stairs, searching for Jaymie's room. I stop at the one where 'Counting Stars' by One Republic is bursting through the door. I knock lightly.

"If it's you, Jim, go away. I don't want to talk to you."

"It's Adalia," I say quietly. The music clicks off and the door opens. I wave.

"Me again. I'll go away if you want, but I'm here for you to talk to if you need it." She nods.

"Let's go to your bedroom, though, mine doesn't have any furniture."

"Okay." We walk through the halls in silence, stopping in front of the door.

"This is my dad's bedroom. Did he move to another one so you could move in here?" I bite my lip again.

"Not exactly." She narrows her eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Jim, um, may or may not make me sleep on the same bed as him." She rolls her eyes.

"Sorry about him. He's not right in the head. Well, I'm not, either, but in a different way." I nod in understanding.

"He sort of drove me crazy, too. Literally. After he did this to my arm, I couldn't stop going on and on about how pretty the red blood was. I might've screamed at him, too, because he killed my family then told me it was going to be alright. And, once, I didn't move for nearly a whole week because he told me that it was my fault that everyone I loved was dead, and then told me the same thing again and again and again" She just shakes her head as I lay down on the soft carpet, staring at the ceiling.

"Why did he do that to your arm?"

"I got ready so he could take me to visit Sherlock, because Jim has some strange obsession with him, now. I don't know if he did before or not, but he does now. I was looking all over and I couldn't find him. I found him in his office, but I'm not supposed to go anywhere near it, so he got mad and pressed me up against the wall and kissed me. He wouldn't stop, so I punched him in the stomach. He did this on the way back here from Sherlock's flat."

"What about your hand?"

"First night I got here. He drugged me and I woke up in a small little room. Seb took me to Jim because he wanted to have tea with me. I declined and was sarcastic. This happened."

"What's it supposed to mean, 'Jim's Darling'?"

"He usually calls me darling, not Adalia."

"Why'd he take you? Did he say?"

"Yeah. He called me his 'live- in ordinary person'. I think that's just a nice way of calling me his pet." She shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through all this alone, Adalia."

"I'm not alone. Seb stops Jim before he can do anything too bad. You can call me Lia, by the way."

"I just can't believe he'd go and be such a major ass after he promised he'd try to stop for me while I was gone."

"He's sorry, you know. Like, actually remorseful for what he did. I don't think he regrets what he did to me, but he's sorry for hurting you."

"Yeah, maybe he is. I just… He's never been the world's best dad, so I shouldn't've expected him to keep his promise."

"Gosh, it must've been such a strange childhood for you. I mean, having a psycho for a dad must be weird when your friends come over." She smiles.

"He actually tries really hard to pretend to be normal when people come around. I mean, obviously not his clients, but my friends and their parents. He's pretty good at pretending to be normal."

"Oh, I've seen him act before. He pretended to be a nice, normal person the day he kidnapped me. And the day we visited St. Bart's, he pretended to be my dad. Sherlock deduced that something was wrong, but he just thought Jim was an abusive father. But he's really great at acting, I have to admit that."

"So, what school do you go to," Jaymie asks. I look at her questioningly.

"I don't. Jim doesn't let me go to school, or anywhere, really, unless it helps him with his plans."

"Well, I can persuade him to take us shopping at the mall, if you want to."

"You can?"

"Yep. Never underestimate the powers of puppy dog eyes." I laugh.

"I've used them on him several times before."

"What for?"

"He takes away my Doctor Who privileges for a day every time I curse. All I have to do is make an adorable face, and he gives them back."

"Nice. Hey, have you heard this song before?"

"What song?" She pulls out a pair of headphones from her pocket and plugs them into her phone, handing me one. We end up laying on the floor of Jim Moriarty's bedroom, singing along to our favorite songs for two hours, bonding over our taste in music and a bunch of other things it turns out we have in common.

 **Sooo... plot twist! Was it predictable? Review, please, and sorry if you're sick of all these updates- just a few more and then I'll stop for today.**


	19. Chapter 19

Jim Moriarty had been nervous the whole week leading up to his daughter's return. He'd prepared, making sure he had all of her favorite foods and setting her room up (it wasn't his fault she never remembered where her room was). He'd buried himself in work, not wanting to talk to Adalia because she would notice something was wrong.

Jim had been preparing for the worst, too. He'd prepared for Adalia and Jaymie to hate each other and not want to be in the same room as each other. He'd prepared for Adalia to spend the next two months avoiding Jaymie wherever she went. He'd been preparing for Jaymie to say how much she hated Adalia, and why did he have to pick her?

Jim had not been prepared for what actually happened. He hadn't been prepared for the girls to instantly understand each other, and Adalia to try to calm Jaymie down after Jim had upset her, or Jaymie to be so instantly protective of Adalia. He hadn't been prepared for the giggles that came from upstairs as he read his paperwork. He hadn't been prepared to find Jaymie and Adalia sitting on the floor of his bedroom, singing along to 'Black Parade' (both of them singing beautifully- Jaymie sang in her school's choir, and Adalia had sung at her mom's friend's bar every Saturday for extra money) while making friendship bracelets. He hadn't been prepared for them to have identical French braids trailing down their backs (Jaymie had loved the way Adalia's braid made her look so much older and sophisticated), or for them to have their nails painted black so they could be matching (Adalia liked the way Jaymie's nails made her look cute and scary at the same time). Jim Moriarty was definitely surprised, but pleasantly so.


	20. Chapter 20

I look up when the door creaks open and roll my eyes at the sight of Jim. I tap Jaymie on the knee and she looks up before switching the music off. We pull the headphones out and stand up at the same time.

"Hi. I see you two are getting along," Jim says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. I step to the side, realizing that Jim wants to have a conversation alone with Jaymie. I slip past him out the door, mumbling something about calling Seb to see how he is. I go in the kitchen and hop up on the counter, pulling out the chocolate ice cream and making myself a bowl. As I eat, I decide I should actually call Seb.

"Hey, Ad."

"Hey, Seb. How'd the job go?"

"Do you really want to hear about it?"

"Nope."

"Why you calling?"

"Jaymie got here, her and Jim got in a huge fight, we became instant friends, and Jim is now trying to apologize even though he doesn't know what he did wrong. I'm eating a bowl of ice cream and trying to ignore the various death threats coming from upstairs."

"Jim wouldn't threaten Jaymie."

"I know. Jaymie is threatening to kill Jim by-" I pause, listening to her shouts. "Decapitating Jim, hollowing out his head, and using it as a cereal bowl. Very violent."

"Yeah, it sounds like it." I pause to listen to Jaymie's next shouts.

"Oh, now Jim just got kicked out of his own bedroom. This should be interesting." Jim stomps down the steps, marching into the kitchen and mumbling under his breath, obviously not seeing me. I hang up with Seb as I watch Jim angrily make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He turns around and angrily rips a piece off with his teeth, still mumbling about how stubborn Jaymie is.

"Enjoying that sandwich?" He glares at me.

"Shut up. I'm not in a good mood," he snaps through a mouth full of bread. I sigh.

"Do you even know what you did wrong?" He shakes his head, suddenly interested in what I have to say.

"You promised her you would stop committing crimes while she was gone, but you did anyway." He slams his sandwich on his plate.

"Let me guess, you figured that out through her saying that she wanted a bowl of ice cream."

"What are you talking about?"

"That stupid language that only makes sense to teenage girls." I shake my head and look at him through narrowed eyes.

"No, Jaymie told me. I'm going to go now." I hop off of the counter and walk towards the exit of the kitchen, but Jim grabs my bicep and pulls me towards him.

"Darling, I'm sorry." I plaster a fake smile on my face.

"This is great practice, Jim. All you have to do now is replace 'darling' with 'Jaymie' and tell it to your daughter. Now let go of my arm." Jim slaps me across the face, right as Jaymie comes in to the kitchen. I smile and wave to her.

"Hi Jaymie!"

"Hey, Lia!" She continues past me and pours herself a glass of water before exiting and going back upstairs. Jim pulls me closer, his voice an angry growl.

"What was that? What happened?" I shrug.

"Well, Jaymie came into the kitchen, you slapped me, I said hello, she said hello, she poured a glass of water, she left, and you asked me what happened." He rolls his eyes and releases my arm.

"Yes, but what was that supposed to mean? In that secret girl language." I adopt a dramatic tone.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies," I say before collapsing on the floor. Jim kneels down next to me, but I pretend to be unconscious. He stands up after checking my pulse.

"Women are so weird." He scoops me up and carries me to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed. Jaymie doesn't say anything, so Jim walks out. I count to one hundred before popping up and sitting down next to her.

"What'd he do that you had to pretend to be unconscious?"

"He's convinced there's some kind of secret code that only girls know and you sent me a message by getting a glass of water. He asked me what you said, so I recited Trelawney's prediction and collapsed."

"Nice one."

"Thanks. Oh, by the way, Seb is terrified now."

"Why?"

"I told him about the death threats I heard coming from upstairs. Hey, did you hear the news?"

"What news?"

"Jim and Seb are dating!"

"Oh my gosh, really?" The door swings open and Jim strolls through the doorway, sitting down next to me. He runs a finger down my back.

"It's not nice to lie, darling," He whispers into my hair. I scoot away from him.

"What did I lie about?"

"Being knocked out."

"I never said that I was unconscious, you just assumed."

"Okay. Sorry, darling, for assuming. Sorry, Jaymie, for breaking my promise." Jaymie looks at him for a second.

"It's alright, Daddy. I guess I can't expect you to just give crime up like that. But what's this I hear about you and Uncle Seb?" Jim blushes and Jaymie and I high-five. Jim slaps me and I pout.

"Why'd you do that?"

"You're being disrespectful to me." I cross my arms.

"Have you been working out?"

"Dude, did you just ask my dad if he's been working out right in front of me," Jaymie asks through her giggles.

"Yep. Answer the question, please."

"Yeah, why," Jim asks, one eyebrow raised.

"'Cause that fucking hurt," I snap.

"Darling, why do you do this to yourself? That's going to be another day." I shrug.

"I don't give a shit."

"I'm not even going to bother with this right now. I have to go make macaroni and cheese from a box because there are two strange girls here who like three minute macaroni and cheese better than anything else I can make." Jim kisses Jaymie on the forehead and me on the cheek before standing up and leaving.

"Don't put the pot in the oven again," I call after him. Jaymie giggles.

"You've got to tell me that story."

 **Alright, no more updates for today. Sorry for flooding you guys with chapters, but I'm just really impatient and want to get this stuff posted. Read and review, please!**


	21. Chapter 21

Two months pass since Jaymie's arrival. She went back to America last week, and now I'm alone with Jim because Seb went on vacation without Jim. We're sitting on the couch, watching some stupid documentary about some famous killer. Something about research, Jim said when he put it on. He's now playing with my hair absentmindedly because he took my braids out. Very fun.  
"Jim, I'm hungry," I say suddenly. He doesn't look away from the telly.  
"That's nice, darling," he says in a monotonous voice.  
"I want food."  
"Go get something, then."  
"We're out of food."  
"Then starve."  
"But I'm already starving. I want food." He sighs and puts the movie on pause.  
"I'm not going shopping. Go make a sandwich or something." I pout but go in the kitchen anyways, only to find that there is no bread. I search through the cabinets, but the only edible thing is peanut butter. Which I'm allergic to.  
"Jiiiiiiiiiiiiim, all there is is peanut butter," I whine as I head back to the living room.  
"Then eat it with a spoon."  
"I have a peanut allergy." He doesn't look up from the telly still.  
"You can eat when Sebby gets back."  
"But that's tomorrow!"  
"You've gone longer without food. Come sit down, now. It's more fun when you get squeamish about the blood and guts." I cross my arms and sit back down on the couch, s far from him as possible. He shrugs and moves closer so he can resume playing with my hair. I smack his hands away and he raises an eyebrow at me.  
"Sorry," I mutter, not wanting to get slapped.  
"Darling, are you okay? You're all miserable and mad. It's kinda cute, actually." I scowl at him and he smiles.  
"You're like a kitten trying to maul a lion. Absolutely adorable and hopeless and will end with your death and pain." I sigh and watch the documentary, grimacing at the violent depictions.  
"Blood wouldn't spurt out like that, it would pour. Slowly, too," I criticize which earns me a surprised gaze from Jim.  
"How do you know that?"  
/? "I just do. Don't question it."  
"No, seriously, how do you know that?"  
"I write violent murder scenes. It's a necessity." He quirks an eyebrow.  
"Can I read one?" I shrug and grab my laptop off of the coffee table and bring up one of my scenes. I hand the laptop over and Jim starts to read it, his eyes growing larger as he goes along. He hands it back with a look of bewilderment heavy on his features.  
"That was… disturbing, considering it was written by a thirteen year old. Are you secretly a murderer?"  
"Nope. I just spend a lot of time doing research before I write the stories. I have to ask, how realistic was it?" He answers immediately.  
"Spot on. Especially the part with the knife in the girl's throat." I beam at him.  
"Thank you, that means a lot." He opens his mouth to continue the conversation when we suddenly lose electricity. I groan. I hate the dark. Even if I won't admit it to anyone, I'm scared of the dark.  
"Why isn't my generator turning on," Jim mumbles. Of course. It only makes sense he'd have one, he wouldn't want to go without electricity.  
"Do you hear that," I ask when I hear the creaking of floor boards. Jim listens, too, as they grow louder, and starts looking for something in the dark, probably a gun. The lights flip back on and I see he hasn't found it, but a group of about six men have found us. And they're all pointing guns at Jim. I freeze in terror, hoping none of them see me. One of them does and points a gun at me.  
"You said there'd be no one else home, boss. His boyfriend went out on vacation," the man with the gun pointed at me says.  
"I thought he killed the girl last month. That was the word on the street," the bald man who must be the leader says, turning to look at me. I look over at Jim, who looks calm, but I can see the panic in his eyes.  
"Jim," I whisper softly, my voice shaking slightly. He doesn't move.  
"Do as they say and keep your mouth shut," he says in a hard tone. I nod and him and the men stare at each other for a long time before the bald leader speaks.  
"I told you I was coming for my money, Moriarty. Do you have it?" Jim looks slightly more panicked, but only enough for me to see.  
"And I told you that's not how it works. I planned it out for you, just like you paid me to, and you messed the mission up with your men. You don't get a refund for not following the plan I gave you." I'm shaking now. Maybe they're going to kill me.  
"So you're not giving me my money," the leader asks. Jim shakes his head and all six of them move forward at once, five headed towards Jim and one over to me. He pulls me to my feet roughly by my arm and forces me to walk forward, his gun up against my back. I don't talk and I don't try to run. They push Jim and I out the doors and into the back of a van, where they handcuff Jim and I together. I don't think Jim is going to try to escape. They slam the door shut and walk around, climbing in the front, on the opposite side of a wood board. That leaves Jim and I in the back of a dark, dirty van while they sit in the seats and figure out what they're going to do to us.  
I whimper as the van speeds away from the mansion. Jim hears this and holds me close, wrapping his strong arms around me.  
"Darling, I need you to pretend that you're very strong and nothing they do hurts you. Just like you do when I do things to you. I need you to put on a brave face, no matter what it is they do to you. It's going to be fine."  
"I'm scared, Jim. Really scared."  
"They can't do anything to you that's worse than what I did."  
"You wouldn't kill me." He doesn't respond to this, which only makes it more obvious that I'm in real danger.  
"Who is it," I blurt out suddenly.  
"Sorry?"  
"I just want to know who kidnapped my kidnapper and I."  
"It's a man who thinks I owe him money."  
"Why don't you just give him money, then?"  
"Because I don't owe him anything."  
"So? If you'd given him the money, we wouldn't be here right now."  
"Mistakes were made, bit late for that now." I sigh and bring my free hand up to tug on my braid, like I always do when I'm thinking, but realize Jim took them out earlier and groan in frustration.  
"Thanks for taking my braids out, Jim. Now there can be blood all over my hair when they decide to shoot me through the head." He rolls his eyes and hands me two hair elastics, which I gratefully take before I start braiding my hair.  
"Hey, my arm is attached to that handcuff. Be careful, it's digging into my wrist."  
"Stop being a baby and let me braid my hair."  
"I'll braid it for you," he says with a smirk.  
"Never again. Last thing we need, them cutting off your fingers because they're stuck in my hair. No way." I tie off my second braid and drop my hand back down.  
"Do you have some kind of plan, Mr. Criminal Mastermind?"  
"Yes."  
"Go on."  
"They're going to torture me, possibly you, as well, to death. We wait for Seb to come and rescue us. I left a note at the mansion."  
"But I don't want to be tortured!"  
"Suck it up and be a big girl. It shouldn't be too long."  
"But it's gonna huuuuuuuuurt."  
"It will. Very much. But you're strong. You'll live."  
"I'm scared. What if Seb doesn't get the note and I die there?"  
"Then you'll get to see Jamie and your parents and your Aunt again."  
"Can you just lie and tell me everything will be alright?" He holds me again and cradles the back of my head in his hand, making it so my face is up against his chest.  
"It'll be alright. It's gonna hurt, but just pretend it's not happening and stay strong." I nod and blink back tears just as the door opens. One of the men sneers at us.  
"How cute. Moriarty trying to comfort a little girl. Let's go, up, up, up. Get out. Get a move on. Try anything and I'll shoot ya." Jim and I hop out of the van, Jim turning icy again and sneering at me when I fall down because of how badly my legs are shaking. I don't let it bother me because I know he's trying to not appear weak. We get marched into a bright office building that looks too cheery for a place I might die in. It makes more sense when we get led down to a basement/dungeon and the handcuffs are taken off. There are two cells, and Jim and I get put in separate ones. It's silent, so they're soundproof. Which means Jim won't be able to tell me it's alright and I have to rely on myself 'til Seb shows up.  
An hour passes and nothing happens. I'm just left to sit on the small metal bench in there and hope for this to all be a nightmare. The door opens and I can't decide if I'm relieved the waiting is over or dreading what's about to happen. A man walks in, the same one who mocked Jim for comforting me, and smiles menacingly. I stare back at him with a straight face. Nothing is scarier than Jim, and I don't let fear show around him. He slams the door shut.  
"Hey, girlie. What's your name?" I think for a minute. Jim said to do what they say, and there's no harm in telling him my name.  
"Adalia." I'm proud my voice doesn't waver.  
"Pretty name for a pretty girl. Your face won't be very pretty by the time I'm done with you." I scrunch my nose up.  
"Are you going to give me a bad makeover? Because I can show you how to use the makeup if you'd like." Great. Why can't I ever keep my sarcastic comments to myself? He runs forward and punches my nose. I don't flinch or scream or wince, only raise my sleeve to try to stop the blood flow.  
"That hurt. You should say sorry." The man looks at me like I'm crazy.  
"Why would I do that? And why aren't you screaming?"  
"You should say sorry because that was mean and it's the socially correct thing to do after you punch someone."  
"Why aren't you screaming?"  
"Dunno. Jim does this all the time, I've learned to control my pain." The man slaps me across the face and I barely blink.  
"Meanie."  
"What's wrong with you?"  
"A lot of things. How much time do you have?" The man shakes his head and walks out of the room. I shrug and rub my stinging cheek, dropping my hand when the door opens again. This time, it's the boss with the bald head.  
"Girlie, your nose is broken and you didn't even scream?"  
"Nope." He walks slowly towards me and punches me repeatedly, in every place he can. Tears stream down my face and I let out the occasional groan or hiss of pain, but I still refuse to scream. He gives up after a while and pulls a knife and cuts me on my shoulders a few times, very deep cuts, and I finally give in and scream. They hurt so bad. He walks out after that and the first man comes back in, carrying a large jar of something. Salt, I realize. I panic and try to plead with him, but he grins menacingly again and pours a palmful. I try to back away from him, but I'm pinned against that wall. Cornered. He dumps the salt out of his hand and onto my cuts, and I scream as black dances across my vision. Oh, God, it hurts. He dumps even more on, until the jar is empty, and leaves.  
Moaning, I rip off the sleeves of my shirt and use them to try to clean out my wounds. Not ideal, but it'll do. I sit in pain, waiting for the next round of torture. The door opens again and a blonde man with features that are less menacing and a kind look in his eyes comes in.  
"What are you going to do now," I moan to the man. "I don't think I can take much more."  
"Boss says you're done for now. You can sleep." He turns around to walk out, but a whisper from me stops him.  
"Jim," I say quietly.  
"Moriarty? What about him?"  
"Jim," I repeat.  
"Yeah, what about him?"  
"Need him."  
"You need to see him?" I nod weakly.  
"I'm sorry, I can't."  
"Please. I won't be able to sleep without him." Turning to Jim for comfort. A whole new low.  
"I really can't."  
"Please, I'm so scared and in so much pain." The man looks at me for a long minute then jerks his head towards the door.  
"If you can walk to his cell, you can stay there 'til tomorrow morning." I struggle to stand and walk unsteadily the few feet it takes to get there. He opens the door and Jim looks up with a cold expression. His eyes soften when they see me, but he continues to glare at the man.  
"Why did you bring her here," he says in a hoarse voice and I notice the bruises on his neck. Strangled?  
"She said she couldn't sleep without you."  
"She can sleep perfectly fine without me."  
"She told me it was very important. She can stay in here until morning." The man pushes me forward, into the cell, and I stumble and fall onto the floor, moaning as fresh waves of pain roll through my arms. The door slams shut and Jim rushes over, kneeling next to me.  
"What did they do?"  
"Punched me. A lot. Made some pretty deep cuts on my arms and poured salt all over them. It hurts so bad." He strokes my hair.  
"I know it does. It's going to be alright, Sebby should be here soon."  
"My arms feel like they're on fire."  
"I bet they do. Come on, you silly girl, you can sleep on the bench."  
"Where are you gong to sleep?"  
"I'm not." I don't question him as he helps me lay down on the bench, humming a lullaby to me until I fall asleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I imagined Sherrinford to be Tom Hiddleston. Also, in case anyone was wondering, Sebastian is Michael Fassbender. Also, very important author's note at the end. (Sorry this took me so long, I got caught up with midterms and studying.)**

I put my show on pause when I hear a knock at the door.

"JIM," I shout.

"Answer it," he calls back from his office. I huff and push a stray strand of hair behind my ear, wiping my paint-stained hands on my equally paint-stained sweatpants before walking to the door. I open it to see an attractive man in a suit.

"Hi. I'm here to see James Moriarty." I blush as I realize how much of a mess I am.

"Yeah, everyone is."

"Who are you?"

"Adalia."

"Got a last name?"

"I don't make a habit of sharing it with criminals." He smiles at me.

"What makes you think I'm a criminal?"

"You're here to see Jim, there's a gun in the left inside pocket of your suit jacket, and apparently everyone who can manage to be charming in a suit is lethal." He smiles wider and holds his hand out. I reach out to shake it before glancing my hand and deciding it's better if I don't.

"So, do you have a name, or are you here to kidnap and or kill Jim?"

"Why would I want to kill him?"

"Two people tried before. One time, I took his own gun and pointed it at him. I wouldn't shoot me if I were you." He chuckles.

"I can tell you don't know how to shoot a gun. Nice try, though." I cross my arms.

"Do you have a name or not?"

"I do."

"What is it?"

"Sherrinford Holmes. Before you ask, no, I am not related to Sherlock Holmes in any way."

"Okay, hang on." I pull my phone out and text Jim.

Sherrinford Holmes. Let him in?

-AS

I look back up at Sherrinford.

"Say cheese." I snap a picture before he has a chance to get rid of his confused expression and send that to Jim as well.

Yes, I'll be right down. Take him to the living room, he's here for tea.

-JM

I scrunch my nose up at Sherrinford.

"Jim says you can come in 'cause you're here for tea, except I don't feel like making tea, so could you possibly just go without it?"

"Shouldn't you have made the tea before?"

"Jim doesn't tell me when people are coming, murderers just sort of... show up."

"Isn't it you job to make tea?"

"Nope."

"You're not the housekeeper?"

"No, I'm the kidnapped thirteen year old. This way, please." Sherrinford follows me to the living room, where he starts playing with the sonic screwdriver I had left out near the TV. He starts twirling it around in the air and I smack his hand.

"Don't touch the sonic screwdriver."

"Sonic... What?"

"Screwdriver, don't touch it. It's Sebby's."

"Sebby?"

"Jim's boyfriend, best sniper ever, and total Doctor Who fangirl. Don't touch the sonic screwdriver."

"Alright, sorry." I sit back down in front of my easel and resume painting. Sherrinford is suddenly right behind me, talking in my ear.

"What's that supposed to be?" I jump and nearly drop my paint brush. I turn around and glare at him.

"Ever heard of personal space," I ask through gritted teeth. He backs up and raises his hands in surrender.

"Really, though, what's it supposed to be?"

"My therapist once told me it's good to paint what your pain looks like."

"But... It's just some guy in a suit and converse standing on a beach and talking to some blonde girl."

"Exactly. This is what my pain looks like." Jim walks into the living room just in time to stop me from ranting about how unfair it is. He glances at the canvas and rolls his eyes in exasperation.

"Painting your pain again?"

"Yep."

"Hey, Sherrinford. We have a whole closet full of those paintings if you'd like one."

"Hello, Jim. I still don't understand, what's it supposed to be?"

"No, don't get her started-"

"It's my fan art of the most heartbreaking moment in the season two finale. See, this here is the Doctor, and this is Rose Tyler, and this little bit over here-" I gesture to the ocean. "- That's all of my tears from watching this scene."

"Who's Rose Tyler?"

"The Doctor's companion. Well, one of them. She had to get left behind so the Doctor could save all of human kind."

"Darling, please stop. Sherrinford didn't come here to discuss some stupid space alien."

"If Seb was here, I could argue with you, but he isn't so, so I'm just going to tell you you're wrong and leave it at that." I turn back to my painting and see Sherrinford reach for the sonic screwdriver out of the corner of my eye.

"Don't. Touch. The sonic. Screwdriver."

"Darling, what's a sonic screwdriver?"

"It's like a weapon. Except it's cooler. And Sherrinford is trying to break Seb's so he can start an argument between us."

"Uh-huh. Ignore her. So, tell me, how have you been?"

"Good. And you?"

"Great. Darling, make me tea."

"Nooooooooooo. I'm painting."

"So?"

"I might 'accidentally' stab someone with a knife."

"We weren't talking about knives." I sigh and turn to look at him.

"If you make me get up, I will stab you."

"I got rid of all of the knives after that little 'mishap', remember? We only have plastic ones."

"There are forks. Go make your own tea." He glares at me.

"Tea. Now."

"No. Painting."

"Make me tea, or I will make you regret it." I laugh at him.

"Aw, Jim, you're so funny when you threaten me. Not even anything specific. That's like saying 'or else'."

"Leaves more to the imagination," he says, walking closer to me. He suddenly snatches the brush out of my hand.

"You can get this when I get my tea." I shrug.

"I was done, anyways. Be a dear and clean that up for me, will you?" Sherrinford stares at me in shock as I flop down on the couch next to him. I smile and wink.

"Both of you look so handsome in suits. Too bad you're both evil and, like, twenty years older than me." Sherrinford's face turns red from embarrassment and Jim sighs, walking over to me. He kneels down next to me and traces little circles on my cheeks with his finger before leaning in close and whispering in my ear.

"Adalia, will you pretty please with cherries on top make me tea? Please, I'll take you book shopping tomorrow if you make me tea."

"Tea is over rated. It's too... British."

"I know. Please make me tea, though? This is a really important meeting and you're making me look weak."

"If I make you tea, you have to let me watch Frozen while you guys talk."

"Why?"

"I like that movie."

"Alright. Book shopping and Frozen in exchange for tea." I smile at him and he hugs me. He pecks a kiss to my cheek before helping me up and pushing me gently towards the kitchen. I head out with a sigh and come back with two cups and a pot of tea. I plop them down on the table before eagerly turning on Frozen and annoying Jim and amusing Sherrinford by singing along with all of the songs.

"Could you maybe lower your voice, darling?"

"LET IT GO! LET IT GO!"

"Darling, please lower your voice."

"CAN'T HOLD ME BACK ANYMORE!"

"Lower your voice before I make you turn that off." I turn around and pout.

"Meanie."

"I try."

"HERE I STAND! IN THE LIGHT OF DAY! LET THE STORM-" Jim switches the TV off and points toward the stairs.

"Go to your room. Don't come out until you're ready to apologize." I stand up and pretend to stumble, grabbing Jim's shoulder for support and getting paint on his suit.

"Oops. You have some paint on your suit. Here, let me help." I grab the rag I wiped my brushes on and try to wipe the paint off of Jim's suit, effectively spreading the paint and making the stain worse. Jim stands calmly and takes my paints. He then walks to the window and squeezes them out until they're empty and tosses me the empty paint tubes.

"Upstairs. Now." I sit back on the couch and curl up in a little ball.

"But it's so boooooring up there."

"That's the point. Upstairs. Don't come down at all."

"What if I stayed down here and kept my mouth shut?"

"No. Go upstairs."

"But Jim-"

"DID I ASK FOR YOUR OPINION?!" I flinch at hi sudden shout and shake my head. He points towards the stairs again.

"Go." I don't move, so he drags me off the couch by my arm and throws me towards the stairs, not hard enough for me to be seriously hurt. I stand up weakly and climb up the stairs, anger boiling but not being able to do anything about it. I flop down on the bed and begin shouting 'Let It Go' as loud as I can, hoping it carries through the mansion to the living room. I hear the front door creak open and instantly stop, rushing downstairs to see if Sherrinford is leaving. He's not, but Sebby walks through the door.

"Sebby!" I run forward and hug the sniper, who chuckles and hugs me back.

"Hey, Ad. Why're you upstairs?"

"Jim made me go up there," I complain.

"Why?"

"He turned off Frozen when I was watching it, so I 'accidentally' got paint on his suit, and then he got rid of all of my paints and started screaming at me to go upstairs. Also, if your sonic screwdriver is messed up, it's not because of me." Seb just shakes his head with a sigh and leads me to the living room. Jim spins around and glares at me.

"I told you not to come down stairs."

"But Sebby said it was okay."

"Don't be stupid, Sebby isn't supposed to be back for another three hours." Seb walks in behind me and Jim's face lights up.

"Sebby!" Seb is not impressed and looks pretty mad at Jim.

"Jim."

"Sebby, what's wrong?"

"You told me you were going to try to be nicer to Ad. That doesn't include throwing out her paints, James."

"She got paint all over my suit."

"And you turned off her movie. Hello, Sherrinford."

"Hello, Sebastian."

"Is that my sonic screwdriver?!" He points to the little pile of metal and screws that is now laying on the table.

"I thought it was Adalia's," Jim says with a shrug. Seb clenches his jaw.

"Go put on shoes, Ad. And a pair of pants that don't have paint all over them." I rush upstairs and throw on jeans and sneakers and decide at the last minute to put on a t-shirt that looks a little cuter than this. I rush back downstairs to find Seb standing at the front door. He nods and walks outside and I linger in the doorway for a minute. He turns to look at me with a raised eyebrow.

"C'mon, Ad."

"But Jim..."

"What about him?"

"When we get back, he's going to be mad."

"He's always mad. Come on, I'll protect you when we get back." I nod and follow Seb.

"So, um, where are we going?"

"Away."

"Where?"

"Just for a walk. I couldn't stand being in the same room as him right now." I nod in understanding and Seb and I walk around London, pretending things are different and everything's okay.

When Sebastian got home three hours early from his job, he didn't know what he expected to see. Probably just Adalia watching TV and Jim in his office. What he actually came back to was terrifying, for him at least.

Adalia had been sent upstairs. Jim rarely did that. Then he found out that Jim was in a destructive mood, taking apart his sonic screwdriver and getting rid of Adalia's paints. His temper was definitely out of control. Seb knew the signs. He knew what Jim was planning to do, he'd seen him do it to the other girls before, although Adalia was definitely the only one who'd made it past a year. Jim was planning to kill Adalia as soon as Sherrinford left, and Seb wasn't going to let that happen.

"Get your shoes, Ad. And put on a pair of pants that don't have paint all over them." Adalia had run upstairs to do what he said, and he glared angrily at Jim. He'd gotten attached to Adalia, he didn't want Jim killing her out of anger.

"No, Jim."

"Who are you telling no? If you remember, Sebastian, I am your boss. If I want you to kill her, you will kill her."

"You expect me to kill her for you? It was bad enough, listening to the screams of the others, but I've gotten attached to her. I won't let you kill her, I am certainly not doing it myself, and I will protect her from you, Jim."

"Protect her from me? Sebastian, I'm not some monster under her bed. I'm a business man. I do business, and sometimes people have to die. You can't protect her, Sebastian, because I truly want her dead, and what I want, I get."

"Not this you don't." He marched out and waited by the door in front of the stairs so Adalia wouldn't go back in the living room with Jim. She came down and he got her out of there as fast as he could, keeping her outside for a long as possible, hoping Jim would be calmer by the time they got back. He didn't tell her about what Jim had planned on doing. She'd run away if he did that, or even worse, run back to him because of her death wish.

When they did get back, Jim was in a good mood.

"Sebby, darling! I missed you guys so much!" He seemed to be happy and over it, so Seb left them alone in the kitchen so he could get changed. He came back to find Jim kissing Adalia while she cried. Seb pretended not to see, knowing that pulling Jim off of her would make his temper rise again, leading to her death. This was the lesser of two evils.

Sebby eventually decides it's time to take me back. I walk with him, dreading what Jim might do, how much he might yell and scream and hit me for leaving without his permission. Seb assures me everything will be okay and leads me inside. Jim runs out of the kitchen, a smile plastered on his face.

"Sebby, darling, I missed you guys so much!" I look at him warily. He was murderous before we left, now he's acting like a small child on Christmas. Seb decides that he's going to get changed and Jim leads me back into the kitchen. I try to stay as far away from him as possible. He pushes me up against the counter, trapping me by putting his arms on either side of me. His smile is gone. I look down at the floor and Jim tilts my chin up, making me look him in the eye.

"Adalia. Such a pretty name. Not like Liv. She had an ugly name. But you, you're gorgeous."

"Please let go of me." He shakes his head and leans forward, brushing his lips against mine. I cringe away and try to get away from him, but he holds me in place. He kisses me again, and I keep trying, even though I know struggling is useless. I feel tears on my cheeks and I think I'm going to be sick. Seb walks in the kitchen and I glance at him hopefully. He'll help me, right? He pretends not to see this and averts his gaze as he makes his tea. My whole body starts shaking with sobs as Seb walks out of the kitchen. Jim finally stops and brushes away my tears.

"Stop crying." His voice is cold and hard and his face is one of anger. I close my mouth and keep the sobs inside.

"Why are you crying?"

"I wanted you to stop."

"I did. Get out of here. Go to the library or something, I'm mad at you."

"Why?"

"Because you're ordinary. You're crying and you're weak. I thought you were better than that, but I was wrong. Get out of here, you pathetic child." I do as he says and rush out of the kitchen. I stop in the bathroom and empty the contents of my stomach. I scrub my mouth, the ghost of his lips still on mine and making me feel disgusted. I end up laying motionless on the bathroom floor, wishing I was anywhere but here, wishing I was dead. Jim finds me like this an hour and a half later.

"Get up, Adalia." I sit up, still staring ahead, emotionless. I feel broken.

"Stand up." I stand up. He walks around to face me.

"I want you to do something for me, dear." I don't answer or move, so he goes on.

"I want you to find Seb and give him this note." He hands me a slip of paper and I walk out, still in a daze. I find Seb in the TV room and hand him the note. He unfolds it and his eyes turn into slits and he slams his hand on the table and I don't move, I just keep staring and waiting.

"Ad, are you alright?" I nod once. He shakes his head and sighs.

"You're not fooling me. Believe it or not, I'm not an idiot. I can tell you're not alright." He stands up and hugs me.

"I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," I murmur.

"It is. Jim said this is what happens when I try to protect you."

"Don't protect me, then. You did a pretty crappy job of it." He laughs shakily and lets me go.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Ad."

"It's alright. He was in a bad mood anyways, he might've killed me if you didn't get me out."

"He was going to, I think."

"I'll be alright, Seb. I just need to read, that's all. It always makes me feel better."

"No, Jim said you have to go talk to him about something." I groan.

"I don't want to talk to Jim."

"You have to." I pout as I walk back to the kitchen, dragging my feet and taking as long as I can. I find a mug sitting on the counter and Jim sitting at the table.

"I made you hot chocolate. As an apology." I look at him without any emotion. Since when does Jim apologize? Since never. Something's up.

"Come sit down, I need to talk to you about something." I just keep looking at him.

"Sit. Down." I shuffle over to the chair and sit down gently. He smiles softly at me.

"Are you happy," he asks me.

"Not presently, no."

"No, I mean in general. Are you happy here," He gestures around and I know what he means. He means am I happy with him.

"Sometimes."

"It's a yes or no question, darling."

"And it's a complicated answer, Jim. Sometimes, I'm happy sitting down and watching movies with you and letting you play with my hair and rant about how everyone's an idiot, and sometimes, I want you to leave me alone and never touch me again and go die in a hole."

"And how are you feeling right now?"

"I'm not right now. I just feel... empty."

"Oh, God, I've finally broken you."

"I don't feel broken. I just feel empty. I'm torn between wanting you to hug me and wanting to stab you."

"Mhmm. Drink your hot chocolate and go to bed, love." I shrug and grab the hot chocolate off the counter, taking a sip and then instantly trying to throw it up, dumping the rest down the drain. This hot chocolate is drugged. I throw up the small amount I did drink and take a slightly shaky breath, hoping none of the drug got into my system. Jim walks up behind me.

"It was just a sleeping drug, darling, to help get you to bed. I didn't want you to have nightmares tonight." I take another shuddering breath and throw up again, until I'm just dry heaving and my ribs are achy. Jim stand with me the whole time, holding my hair out of my face and telling me comforting things and leading me up to bed. He places a glass of water on the table next to me and kisses my forehead.

"Get well soon, my little angel."

 **I started a tumblr for this fic (because I have nothing better to do). I'll post news, headcanons you have for the characters, excerpts of AUs I wrote, and maybe clips I have saved that I cut out of the story when I edited. It would be great if you followed me. The URL is on my profile.**

 **(And I know there's only one post so far, but I'm working on more.)**

 **Sorry again about the delay in posting!**


	23. The Abominable Criminal

**Here it is, about twelve days later than I'd hoped to post it! Anyways, this is my version of the Sherlock Christmas special. Set in 1895, it explores the relationship between Adalia, Jim, and Sebastian through a different point of view. Hope you enjoy this eleven page word document treat, and I hope it doesn't completely suck. Read and review!**

"Oh, sir, I'm so sorry," I exclaim as I bump into him and the both of us are knocked down. He stands up, brushes off his suit, and helps me up.

"Are you alright, my dear?"

"Yes, I'm fine, are you okay? I wasn't watching where I was going…"

"I'm alright. Shall I escort you to your destination, you look a bit lost…"

"Oh, no, sir, I could never ask that of you. Thank you, though."

"No, I insist. I cannot deal with the guilt of letting such a young girl get lost because I did not walk with her. Come, you can ride in my carriage."

"Thank you so much, sir." He helps me into the coach and I carefully smooth my tattered dress as the kind man climbs in next to me. He motions to the driver, who sighs before nodding and making the horses start galloping. I look in confusion to the man.

"Sir, not to be rude, but don't you need me to tell you where I was headed?" He reaches inside his large coat, draws out a black box, and opens it enough so that I can see a needle resting inside. I yelp and move away from him, but he merely shakes his head and grabs my wrist.

"Now, my dear, why don't you tell me your name?"

"Sir, please, my auntie-"

"Dearest, don't you want to be a good girl? Because bad girls get punished. What is your name, sweetie?"

"A-Adalia Shonley- please, sir, I won't tell anyone, just please let me go-"

"Hush now, sweetheart," he says in a deceptively soft voice, removing the needle from the box. I squirm, but his grip is tight; vice-like. "Now, this is going to hurt for a bit, so just hold still." I try to rip my arm away from him. He jabs the needle in and then I fall backward, my head landing on the stranger's lap. His hand runs through my hair.

"Fuckin' psycho-" He slaps me hard.

"It is not proper of a lady to use that kind of language, my love." My eyes slide closed and my head gives one final pound.

"James would like to see you now," a deep voice rumbles. "He reckons a day is a long enough time to be out." I open my eyes and squint up to see a man with blond hair and blue eyes standing over me. He looks uncomfortable in his three piece suit, as though he doesn't like how proper the clothes are. I sit up slowly, rubbing my pounding head.

"Sorry, sir, but… who's James?"

"You know the man who shoved a needle in your arm and slapped you? That's James."

"Am I going to die, sir?"

"Not today, if you do what he says. Up you get, dear." He holds a hand out and I reluctantly place my delicate hand in his calloused one. He pulls me to my feet. "The name's Sebastian Moran. Just Sebastian is fine. And your name is…?"

"Adalia. Sebastian, where are my clothes?"

"About that…" He rubs the back of his neck. "James had me change you. He said you're his princess now and that tattered old gown just wouldn't do."

"You… saw me naked."

"I saw you in your underdress, m'dear, and it's nothing personal. Boss' orders. Come along, then." I follow him down a few dim hallways and then into a room lit by several candles and a fireplace. "He's right inside. Just do as he says." I nod, my breaths shaky now, and push the door open. The man- James, if I remember correctly- looks up and smiles softly.

"There. Doesn't that gown look so much better than that old cloth you were wearing? Come sit." I reluctantly walk and sit, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. I cross my legs and fold my hands in my lap. A proper lady. "Now, I'm sure you have questions. Go on."

"Why am I here, sir?" My voice is quiet, afraid.

"To be my… well, my pet, which I'm sure doesn't sound too nice to you. But it is, trust me." He gives a smile, all pointed teeth and intimidation. I shiver and look down at my folded hands.

"Please, sir, can I go home? Please, I promise that I won't tell anyone."

"I'm afraid that I cannot let you go. You've seen far too much."

"Please, sir-"

" _No._ And that's final."

"I don't even know your last name, sir, I won't tell anyone. Please."

"Unfortunately, sweetie, you're smart, and I see the cogs turning in your brain." My eyes sweep over the certificates and I take in the name. 'Moriarty'.

"According to your certificates, you're a maths professor."

"Now darling, don't be so dull minded."

"Your name is familiar, but I can't place it. It's loud, it's too loud-" I start mumbling and clutching my head in pain.

"Shh. It'll wear off, just relax." I take a few heavy and ragged breaths in through my nose. The ache slowly fades. "Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?" I nod. "And have you ever read any of John Watson's stories?" I nod once more. "And you have read of a villain with knowledge to rival Holmes himself, though his identity is unknown?" I nod. "That is me." He gives me a grin that makes my stomach turn.

"Why, sir? Why do this?"

"I need you, Adalia, that's why." He grabs my hand, fingers curling around my palm. "You are here to be mine and mine only. I saw you on the streets… So precious. So beautiful. You must be mine. I had to keep you pure. I had to keep you from getting tainted by others." I shudder.

"Please, sir. I promise I won't-" He slaps me hard and I grab my cheek as tears pick my eyes.

"I _said_ you're staying. Do not challenge me, young lady."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Good girl. Bow your head." I do, rather reluctantly, and I feel something being fitted snugly around my neck. "This is your collar, to remind you of your place. If need be- if you are disobedient and forget your place- then I will make it more permanently apparent that you belong to me." I swallow, shaking.

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good girl. Chin up, let me see." I look up and his fingers trail over the leather. "Suits you. Come along then, you must be exhausted." He grabs my hand and leads me away. He stops in a room with a single mattress laying on the ground. "Your room. It's not the best, but it'll do."

"Thank you, sir." I feel nauseous. He guides me in, watches me lay on the mattress and pull the covers upward, doesn't move from the doorway.

"You mentioned your auntie."

"Yes, sir."

"You live with her?"

"Yes, sir."

"Not anymore." His smirk is cruel as he shuts the door and leaves.

"Sebastian, there isn't a thing to do here," I complain, following him around the large mansion. I hike up my skirts with a frustrated sigh as I nearly trip yet again. "Two weeks and I can feel my brain slowly rotting."

"And what am I to do about that?"

"Sebastian, sometimes I just wonder what would happen if I were to slip inside of James' drink a bit of poison…"

"If you were to put poison in James' drink, he'd notice and have me shoot you."

"And if he weren't to notice, then what?"

"In the very small chance that James did not notice his poisoned drink," he says as he turns to face me. " _I_ would notice you'd poisoned his drink and keep him from drinking it."

"Sebastian, James is a bad man. Why are you so determined to keep him alive? Have you-"

"No." He turns and continues walking, so I continue following him.

"Sebastian-"

"Ever heard the phrase 'women are meant to be seen and not heard'?"

"Ever heard the phrase 'don't be a sexist asshole'?"

"Adalia," James snaps. I close my eyes and wince- I hadn't known he was in this wing. "What did I tell you not only about using profanity, but also your insane ideas that women are equal to men?" I feel a spark of anger and turn to face James with a roll of my eyes.

"That they are both inappropriate and wrong. However, coming from a man who wants only for women to be treated as shiny objects who wear collars on their necks and fear in their hearts, I rather think that perhaps it would be best to disregard your ideas on feminism."

"Women are the inferior half of this human race-"

"And men are the egotistical oppressors whom we somehow manage to deal with."

"I will not be arguing with a child."

"I am thirteen, hardly a child. Soon enough, I'll be courting."

"Soon enough, you'll be dead if you don't hold your tongue. And I'm sorry to disappoint, m'dear, but as I don't like sharing my toys, you will not be courting."

"You don't mean for me to become engaged to you?" I ask with an eyebrow raising up my forehead. I cross my arms over my chest.

"Perhaps. And what would you do if I were to take you as my wife? You would be incapable of stopping me." He tugs at one of my curls and watches it bounce back into place. My nose wrinkles in disgust.

"I sure as the fires of Hell would not go down quietly."

"A beautiful girl such as yourself would be quite the prize to show off at balls... Wearing a nice gown and your hair pinned up, walking in on my arm, I think it would be rather lovely, my darling."

"Stop teasing her, James," Sebastian says with exasperation. "He's not marrying you, Adalia, and you haven't the least to worry about when it comes to James courting you. He'd lose interest."

"Speak for yourself, Moran, and not me. I most certainly would not lose interest in you."

"How disappointing, I was praying to the good Lord that perhaps I'd be lucky enough to avoid that sort of attention from you." He rolls his eyes at me.

"Your sarcasm would deter men from you had you been able to court in the first place, so be glad."

"And is a man to be a woman's first priority in life? Is every woman to aspire to have children and a husband? Is every women supposed to follow societal laws and be married at twenty for fear of being labelled an old maid? For I would rather remain Adalia Shonley and be free to explore, rather than adopt some other surname and be bound to the same old mediocre life of cross-stitching and preparing dinner for a man who will not even appreciate me enough to grant me the vote." With that, I huff and turn, walking in the direction of the library.

When I wake up on Christmas morning, I see snow falling gently outside of the single window in my dreary room. The light reflecting off of the white powder lights the room up for once, and just that alone makes my heart fill with excitement and joy. I do love Christmas very much. I run to James' room, even though it's four in the morning (as I cannot sleep in any longer than that- my body will not allow it) and he prefers to sleep in rather late- until seven. I gently shake him awake, the Christmas spirit filling me enough to not care that I'm only in my nightie.

When he finally wakes up, he doesn't seem to realize it's me and twists my wrist hard. I whimper softly and attempt to bite back my scream.

"James, please let go of my wrist, you're hurting me," I whisper through gritted teeth. He opens his eyes and, upon seeing my face twisted in pain, releases me.

"Pardon my language," he slurs groggily. "But what the hell are you doing in here?" I nervously bite my lip.

"Pardon me, James, but it's Christmas, and I was feeling excited."

"And you woke me because…?"

"Well… I'm not actually sure. I always woke Mother and Father on Christmas morning because we usually exchanged presents and ate breakfast together."

"And you believe that I bought you presents?" His eyebrows are raised as he sits up. I avert my eyes from his bare chest.

"I suppose I was rather stupid, sir. Apologies. I will just be going back to bed, then. Happy Christmas." I keep my eyes on the floor and let my hair hang in front of my face like a curtain to a window to try to hide the bright red blush on my cheeks. Then I start crying- the last thing I wanted to happen today. Though I was going to go back into my room, my spontaneous sobbing session has left me frozen. This is my first Christmas without my family. This is my first Christmas without Mother singing carols under her breath as her and I made cookies and Father picking Jamie up to put the star on top of the tree after the two of them had finished decorating. This was already going to be hard enough at Auntie Clara's house, but now I am with James and I have plenty of reason to cry, even without the loss of my family.

I feel two warm hands on my hips, tugging me downward, and then I'm sitting on James' bed and sobbing and muttering over and over again that I don't want to be here. James rubs circles on my back with one hand and tucks my hair behind my ear with the other.

"What has you so upset, darling," he murmurs. "Was it me? I apologize. I did not mean to be so harsh."

"N-No," I sob, trying to control the grief washing over me in never-ending tides. "I just… I have to spend Christmas away from my family this year. This is the first time I have not had them and.." I trail off. He looks at me thoughtfully.

"I suppose you could send them a telegram. Or a letter, whichever you prefer. But only today. And you can't go back to them."

"That is very thoughtful of you, James, thank you, but I have to visit them."

"You cannot visit them, my dear, but do tell me why you see that is so important."

"My family is dead, James. Except for my Auntie Clara, which is why I lived with her. So, if it is alright with you, of course, I would like to visit them in the cemetery they were buried in." He stares at me with sympathy and shock evident in his face, from the way his eyes are widened and soft to the way his lips part slightly.

"Oh, Adalia, I did not know that. Of course I will take you to the cemetery today. Later on, for it is still early. If you do not mind me asking, how did your family die?"

"In a fire," I answer quietly, tears springing to my eyes yet again. "I came home from school to see the only home I had ever known ablaze, orange flames mixing with gray smoke to float into the sky. Father had been off of work that day, and Jamie had been pretending to be ill. I was the only one not there when…" I trail off. "The fire department was far too late to save them. I stood on the other side of the street and watched them and screamed so loudly for my dead family, as though it could bring them back. And do you want to know what I had been thinking when my mind was numb from the grief I felt?"

"What did you think," he asks quietly.

"I thought that the flames that had incinerated my family were gorgeous. I had thought they were the most beautiful shade of orange. I believed them to be one of the most beautifully tragic things I had ever witnessed with my own eyes." Tears stream freely down my face and James envelops me in a hug.

"It is going to turn out to be alright in the end."

"Don't say that. You cannot sit here and tell me it will be alright when tomorrow is never promised, when I do not even want a tomorrow some days." He releases me from his hug when Sebastian walks in. Sebastian smiles, obviously not seeing the tears on my face.

"Happy Christmas, you two."

"Happy Christmas, Sebastian," I say as I wipe tears off of my face. James pecks my cheek.

"I did get you presents," he mumbles into my ear. "I was only teasing you." For some reason, this only makes me sob again. Sebastian looks concerned but does not question it, and James just holds me until I stop crying. I sniffle after I've calmed myself once again.

"Go wait with Sebastian, my darling, and I will get dressed and meet you downstairs. Don't look in the sitting room quite yet." I nod and follow Sebastian into the hallway.

"What was that about," he asks me quietly.

"My family is dead and I am sad."

"Then who did you live with? Before James?"

"Auntie Clara." He just nods and James comes out moments later, somehow dressed already.

"Come along, then," he says with a smile, taking my hand in his and leading me down the staircase. I gasp as soon as the sitting room is in sight and the sheer amount of presents lying on the floor. I usually only receive one or two from Mother and Father, and I was glad to get that many. But James has gotten me at least twenty.

"James-!"

"I went a tad bit overboard," he says with a sheepish grin. "But I do love to spoil my girl."

"Oh, James, thank you!" I turn to Sebastian and hug him, as well. "And thank you, Sebastian!" Both men chuckle.

"Well go on, my dear," James says. I sit on the floor and pull the paper back on book after book- some by my favorite author, Jane Austen, others I have never heard of before that have large spines and a welcoming aura to them. Then there are the notebooks and quill pens and ink pots and a sketchbook and pencil, and _my goodness, has James spoiled me._ I hug both him and Sebastian tight and thank them, and my excitement brings smiles to their faces. Then I remember and tell them I shall be only a moment and dash into the kitchen, grabbing the muffins I made for James (who is not very keen on sweeter things) and cakes I made for Sebastian (who will most likely devour them in one week, though there are twelve). They smile and we laugh and this is Christmas, even if Mother and Father and Jamie are gone, and this place is the last place I wish to be at everyday.

I must end up falling into slumber whilst reading on the couch, snuggled into the side of a laughing (and slightly tipsy) James, for he is shaking me awake. I rub the sleep from my eyes.

"Darling?"

"James," I mumble.

"We should be leaving soon for the cemetery." I nod and stand, unsteadily. James catches me and guides me upstairs. A black dress lays across my mattress, which I struggle to put on. It's rather tight.

I walk downstairs and James nods approvingly before slipping my coat onto my shoulders. He slides his own coat on and then his hand into mine.

"Do not try to run, or I will bring you straight back, and no amount of crying will stop me. If I tell you we need to go, then you get back in the carriage as fast as you can, because it means that we are not safe. Understand?"

"Yes." My voice is slightly breathless as I step into the gentle snowfall outside. My eyes look around in wonder at what I once would have considered an inconvenience. It's so beautiful, especially after being locked in the mansion and not allowed to set foot outside for months. The cold stings my cheeks, but I cannot bring myself to care as I see my breath puff before me. I breathe deeply, cherishing the harsh edge of the air in my lungs. Beautiful.

"Move along," James says softly in my ear, guiding me to the carriage. He helps me into the carriage and I fix my skirts as he settles in next to me.

"I trust you know where the cemetery is, Sebastian," James teases. Sebastian grumbles something and then cracks the whip, causing the horses to start galloping.

When we reach the cemetery, James helps me down again and Sebastian comes around so that both men stand on either side of me. I lead them to where my family is buried, but I stop short when I see Auntie Clara weeping at their graves.

"So sorry," I hear her sob repeatedly. "She is likely dead, and it is all my fault." James leans over to whisper in my ear when he sees me frozen with shock.

"Who is standing in front of your family's graves and crying, my darling?"

"My… That's Auntie Clara," I mumble, my brow furrowed. "But I did not expect to see her here. She was too intoxicated to look over me, which is why you were able to abduct me that day."

"We should go," he mumbles. "Come back later, when she's not here."

" _Orrrrrrr_ …"

"Adalia," he says warningly. "You are not to run, do you understand me? I will forcibly restrain you if I must-"

"But what if you were to come with me," I suggest. "And stand near me?"

"Adalia…"

"James."

"No."

"What if Sebastian was to come with me?"

"Then you would find a way to distract him long enough to run. Adalia, I am not an imbecile, and I know what you're up to."

"James, I swear that I would not run from you. I merely want to wish the last of my living family a Happy Christmas."

"Adalia, no."

"James, yes."

"Adalia Fiona Shonley, I am absolutely serious when I tell you-"

"How d'you know my middle name?"

"-That if you speak to your aunt, the consequences-"

"Sebastian, you devil, did you tell him?" He snorts and tries to look as though he doesn't find me refusing to listen to James amusing.

"Listen," James hisses. I sigh and look to him.

"Yes, James?"

"You cannot talk to her. If you even attempt to, you can be sure that this will be the last time in a long while you are allowed to go anywhere."

"Seb," I say, looking to the man. He frowns slightly at the nickname but then shrugs it off.

"Yes?"

"Will you take me to talk to Auntie Clara, since James is being utterly impossible?"

"I'm sorry, Adalia," he says slowly. "But I have to agree with James on this one. Only because it's not a good idea. You'll only be depressed when you think about your old life. We will return later. Get back in the carriage." James and Sebastian both force me back into the seat, though I struggle valiantly. I pout for a while, but James forces me to look at him.

"No being sad. It is Christmas, be joyful."

"How am I to be joyful? I have spent Christmas with two psychopaths, and I saw my auntie for what will probably be the last time in my life, and yet, I was not able to speak to her. She believes me to be dead!"

"You _will_ be dead if you do not watch your tone with me."

"Apologies," I mutter unenthusiastically as I look out the window and slump down in my seat. James sighs.

"I do apologize, but you and Sebastian are the only two people who know I am more than just a maths professor, and I think the sight of her niece wearing a collar that claims you are my property and scars on your hand that say the same would give it away to your aunt just who I am." I reluctantly nod and Sebastian slows down as we reach the cemetery yet again- we have circled this part of London approximately twelve times. This is the first time that it is empty. I look to James, who nods encouragingly, and then I climb out of the carriage, clutching to the three roses and ignoring when they prick me. I pick my skirts up slightly so they do not drag in the snow; I remember Mother used to laugh and call me a silly duckling when I forgot to do that as a younger girl. It brings a bittersweet smile to my face as I arrive at their graves.

"Hello, Mother. Hello, Father. Hello, Jamie." I whisper their names in an almost reverent fashion as I crouch in front of the marble headstones. "I apologize for not visiting before. I have been… unable to.

"Happy Christmas. I celebrated it still, but it was not the same as when you were still alive. I cried a lot.

"James is waiting, so I must be quick. I miss the three of you very much. I do wish you could come back, though I know the impossibility of it.

"Happy Christmas." I lay the roses down and walk back to the carriage, my shoulders shaking as I sob. James brings me close as soon as I am in the back of the carriage and lets me lay my head on his shoulder.

I cry the whole way home.

I wake up on the mattress with a kink in my neck and-

Oh, dearie.

I stand and walk around, looking for Sebastian. I find him and tap his shoulder, which causes him to put down his newspaper and turn to look at me.

"Good morning, Ad."

"Good morning, Sebastian. I have a slight issue that I would prefer to not talk to James about, as it's a tad embarrassing…" My face flushes red.

"Go on."

"I'm… My…" I clear my throat and start over. "It's that time of the month." He nods slowly with wide eyes.

"And, uh-" He clears his throat. "Is there, uh, something, uh-"

"I need pads."

"Yes, right, of course." So he runs out into town for me and returns, and I take care of everything. Things seem to be fine for now- cramps only slightly there, no headache, my mood is calm.

I lay on the couch in the sitting room, closing my eyes and curling up to try to stop the sudden attack on my uterus. James comes in and sighs at me.

"Move your legs, darling, you're taking up the entire sofa."

"James, just leave me alone," I growl.

"And whom do you think you are speaking to in that tone of voice, Adalia," he says sternly. My eyes snap open to meet his, my own glaring back as icily at him as he is to me.

"I am talking to my demented captor who could just as easily sit in the chair opposite me as he could on the sofa that I am currently occupying, though he is too stubborn and self-important to just let me _lie in peace for one day._ "

"Watch your tone-" he starts warningly, but I clench my hands into fists and stand quickly, so I am just a few inches shorter than him.

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I GIVE A SINGLE CARE ABOUT MY TONE, JAMES?!" I huff and push past him, though I can tell he's following me into the kitchen. I rummage through the cabinets in search of the food I'm looking for, and then take the small cakes I made two days ago into the sitting room and flop on the sofa. James walks in after me.

"Is something wrong?" I nod with a pout as cramps assault me. I put the cakes down on the table, suddenly nauseous. Oh, how lovely it is to be a woman. I curl up in a ball in an attempt to lessen my pain, and James takes this as his cue to sit next to me.

"What's wrong, darling?"

"A lot of things that I refuse to discuss with you."

"Why?"

"I refuse to discuss it with you because that conversation would likely emotionally scar me and it would be highly uncomfortable for both you and I."

"Why would it be uncomfortable?"

"It was uncomfortable enough asking Sebastian to get me pads, I would rather not tell you about my menstruation!" I snap the words at him and his eyes widen, a soft 'oh' escaping his lips. The he frowns, the corners of his mouth tilting downward.

"It can't be that bad, can it?" I throw the pillow I'd been holding tight to my stomach at his head.

"Yes, James, it is that bad. My uterus is forcibly flushing unfertilized eggs out of my body, and the lining of my uterus, all leaving through my-"

"Yes, I get it!" He cuts me off and looks disgusted, which leaves me feeling satisfied.

"Are you positive that you don't wish for me to go into further detail? Because I really could, James-"

"Please don't." I flinch as another wave of cramps roll through me. James' face softens and then he drapes a blanket over me with a gentle tenderness in his eyes. "Would you like it if I were to stay with you?"

"You would do that for me?"

"Of course I would. I would probably do anything for you." I smile as he sits down, and I try to ignore the harmful things he has done to me. He looks at me expectantly and I give in after a moment, crawling to him and snuggling into his side. I look up at him with pleading on my face.

"James, can you read me a story? I like your voice. It's soft." He looks surprised but kisses my forehead and nods. I hand him my book of fairytales.

"Which one, my love?"

"The Snow Queen, please. It's my favorite." He opens the book and I fall asleep nuzzled into his side, listening to his soft lilt of an accent read the beautiful words.

"Adalia," James calls. His voice is… softer, somehow, the accent more pronounced and my name is a slur on his tongue. He stumbles into the living room and I sigh.

"James, you are drunk." He laughs loudly and flops onto the sofa next to me.

"Adalia, would you like to hear a joke? Women." I clench my hands into fists, knowing better than to reply.

"James-" He wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my hair.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to offend you, my love." I sigh heavily. Now I understand why James does not drink.

"James, how many bottles of wine did you drink?"

"One, I think."

"You think?"

"I did not count." He shrugs and then reaches into his dressing gown, drawing his pistol. It does not scare me until he puts the barrel to his forehead. I yelp and take it from him.

"James, what were you thinking? You could have died-"

"And you would not be pleased if I were to no longer live?" The question causes me to tense.

"I do not know, but I know that I do not wish to see your brain pour out of your skull. Ruins a woman's appetite."

"Sure it's not anything more," he asks with a smirk. I break down sobbing.

"I do not know what is wrong with me, James. I do not like you, but if you were to die, I believe I would cry. I do not like you, but sometimes you make me happy, and it is hard to hate you when you envelop me in your arms and tell me that I make good muffins." He hugs me tightly to him.

"Do not cry, my darling. You are too pretty to cry." I smile weakly and push him off of me.

"Let me walk you up to bed so you do not hurt yourself." I lead him up the stairs and he smiles softly at me while standing in the doorway before shutting it gently and leaving me to stand by myself in the hallway. I wonder if he will hurt me tomorrow because his head aches.

When I wake up, I'm in the small room I had been in the first day James abducted me. Yet, I'm not alone. I look at the other woman, who is currently sitting with her back to the wall, looking unconcerned.

"Good, you are finally awake," she drawls. "I would ask if you knew where we are, but I strongly doubt that you know more than I do about our current situation. Am I wrong?"

"You are, in fact, wrong. Who are you?"

"Irene Adler." She holds her hand out and I shake it once.

"Adalia Shonley. Who are you to James Moriarty?"

"His employee, though he's never let me actually see where he lives. I suppose this is it?"

"Yes."

"And you are another employee of his?"

"No, I would not ever work for that foul man. He abducted me in the streets six months ago and made me his pet."

"I do not believe you." My hand, the scarred one that bears filthy words, runs over the leather collar around my neck. Her eyes flicker with something- understanding, I think. Before she can say anything else, James opens the door and Irene stands, as a sign of respect. I stay seated and ignore him. He gives a heavy sigh.

"My darling Adalia, you know how I despise it when you ignore me." His voice is exasperated as if we have discussed this before; it was less of a discussion and more of me pleading as he hurt me, however. I continue to ignore him, which causes Irene to look appalled.

"My darling, did I do something to make you upset?" The idea he cares if he has upset me is laughable. I remain silent.

"My dearest, please do not force me to resort to violent means to get you to speak. What have I done to offend you? Tell me what my offense is and I shall make it up to you." My suspicions have been confirmed; he needs me to have an argument with him in front of Irene, so that she may realize she is not his most important, most favored woman. With a sigh, I stand, gather my skirts, and face him.

"You drugged me again, James. You have not done that to me in over three months, and you have drugged me, so that you may pick up your _lover_ -"

"She is not my lover."

"And out of all of my accusations, that is what has given you the most reason to defend yourself? James, you nearly sound like a guilty man."

"And you nearly sound jealous, my dear. Are you? Does it make your blood boil, your hands curl into fists, when you think of me speaking with another woman, kissing her with my hands on her waist, letting her sleep in my bed with me, in your place, where you should be?" But something is wrong with that; I do not sleep in James' bed with him. But I also do, in… another world? _What the hell?_ The walls seem to shake and I grab my spinning head, blaming this on the drugs.

"It's not the drugs," James says. My eyes snap open and we're… not in the small room. And I'm not in my gown, barely dressed, in fact, and James is Jim, and he wears a suit, but not… _his_ suit.

"W-What?"

"It's not the drugs," he repeats. He takes a step toward me and everything shakes again. My eyes sweep around the living room. Doctor Who plays on the telly.

 _The telly?!_

"You know this is wrong, this is all wrong," he whispers, shaking his head. "Oh, you know something's not right." He takes another step toward me, puts his hands on my hips, kisses my neck. " _Think_ ," he says in a rough stage whisper. I push him off of me and walk to the telly.

 _How does that have a name?_

"They're… moving, the pictures are moving, James."

"And yet, you still call me James. What's wrong with this?"

"Everything," I say, whipping around to face him. I look down at my clothes. "Women don't wear pants, especially not this tight, and definitely not such revealing and morbid shirts-"

"You would laugh at yourself," he hums, his hands in his pockets as he looks at me from across the living room. "You would, you would laugh at yourself calling yourself emo."

"E-Emo? Where do you get such words from, James?" He takes a step closer and the entire room shakes again. I close my eyes and breathe, _breathe_. When I open my eyes once more, everything is stilled.

"This is _wrong_ , Adalia, and you know it, oh, you _know it_. But you need to _think_!" He slaps me hard across my face and I grab my stinging cheek, gasping at the pain. "What's wrong with this? It's painfully obvious. It's so obvious, just figure it out. _Figure it out_!" I look around wildly.

"James. No, Jim. N-No, James?"

"It's so simple. It's right in front of you. Adalia, you know this. You know something's wrong, you know _everything_ is wrong, and you know exactly what it is, you just need to realize it."

"No. It's everything, it's something, it's nothing- It's those damn drugs, that's what it is."

"IT'S NOT THE DRUGS," he roars. "There _are_ no drugs, I didn't _give_ you any drugs. Think, dammit!"

"The telly."

"Yes, good! Why is the telly wrong?"

"Because- Because it's 1895 and the telly doesn't exist."

"Good. So why is it here, why do you know what it is and what it does, and yet it appalls you, confuses you so?"

"I-I don't know."

"Alright, it's alright, you're on the right track. Why do I confuse you?"

"Because I don't even know what to call you, I don't know if you're James or Jim or to be feared or loved-"

"Forget that, that always has and always will confuse you. Focus on my name. Why is Jim right?"

"Because you've always been Jim."

"Why is James right?"

"Because you have never once called yourself Jim."

"One of those is a lie, one of those is a blatant lie. Who is he?" He points to the blond haired sniper, and when I look at him for too long, his outfit flickers between a three piece suit and jeans and a t-shirt.

 _What the hell are jeans?_

"He's- He's Sebastian Moran, you know that-"

 _"Yes,_ I do. Forget what I know. What do you call him?"

"Sebby."

"Good! Who is he to me?"

"He's your employee, he's your- your boyfriend, but- No, it's all too confusing!"

"Come on, Adalia, it's on the tip of your tongue. You know this. You understand this. You do."

"Who am I," Irene Adler drawls.

"A real bitch," I mutter. "But not that bad once I get to know you."

"And what's wrong with that," Jim- no, James- no, _Jim_ asks excitedly.

"I just met her. Just… five minutes ago, I met her.

"Good! And so what does this mean? The telly and your clothes and Seb and Irene and me? What does this all mean, when you put it together?"

"I-It's not real," I whisper, looking around. "This isn't- It's 2014 and we have a telly, and you're Jim, and he's Sebby, and Irene is still a bitch but she's been over for tea enough for me to know her, oh Jim, Jesus, Jim, it all hurts."

"Shh," he says softly, suddenly laying next to me in his- no, _our_ bed, because it's 2014 and I sleep in Jim's bed with Jim because he likes having me close to him at night and he helps me ward off the nightmares. He holds me tight to his chest.

"Jim- Not right, but it's not wrong, but-"

"Shh," he repeats, hand running through my hair and lips kissing my forehead.

"The answer," I mumble.

"The answer, Adalia," he says quietly. "Is never in the fall. It's the _landing_."

I sit up with a gasp and take in everything around me. My chest rises and falls quickly, and Jim is over me, has been over me the whole time.

"Adalia? Did you hear me? Darling? That was a pretty nasty landing, you hit your head when you fell down the stairs- Come on, let me go check to make sure you're not bleeding."

"I'm not- I'm not- What year is it?" My voice is breathless and Jim looks at me with concern as he helps me to my feet.

"It's 2014. Adalia, how hard did you hit your head?"

"A-And… your name is?"

"…Jim," he says slowly, looking me over with concern. "Adalia, are you okay? You've known me for ages now, you know my name."

"I'm fine," I mutter. "And… Sebby?"

"What about him?"

"He's your boyfriend, right? And he… never wears suits."

"No, he never wears suits, and yes, he's my boyfriend, thanks to you. Darling, I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine. I just have… one more question. Just one, that's it."

"Okay?"

"What's a telly?" He looks at me as though wondering if I'm joking, but my expression must make him think otherwise. He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me to the couch.

"Just… stay here, I'm going to call a doctor, okay?"

"No, I'm fine," I say. "I'm okay, really. I just… I got stuck really deep inside my Mind Palace. Really deep. I… my mind creates all these different scenarios, and it's hard to tell what happened and what didn't sometimes. I fainted when I was going down the stairs and that's why I fell, but when I fainted and before you found me, I was imagining what life would be like with you if it was 1895. You kept screaming at me to wake up."

"That's probably because I was screaming at you in reality to wake up," he mutters. "Shall I make you hot chocolate to welcome you back to 2014?"

"That would be lovely, thank you." He nods and heads into the kitchen. Seb comes into the living room and I don't glance at him twice- until I notice the suit he wears.

"You think I look good in it?"

"No!" I shout.

"Jesus," he mutters. "No need to be so harsh."

 **What did you guys think?**


	24. Chapter 23

"Darling, I'm going to a party tonight," Jim tells me as we eat breakfast.

"Okay…?"

"Would you like to come?"

"Not particularly," I reply through French toast.

"Let me rephrase that: I'm going to a party tonight, you're coming as well."

"Why?"

"Are you questioning me?"

"Yes." I can tell Jim is in one of his more dangerous moods because he glares at me before snatching my plate away.

"Y'know, my little pet, I don't have to feed you. I might just forget to give you any food for the next week or so." I roll my eyes. I'm in one of my don't give a shit moods.

"And I just might tell Seb that you plan on starving me." He smirks triumphantly.

"Seb is out of town for the next month. You can tell Seb all you want." I huff.

"Fine. What do I have to do to get you to not starve me?"

"Apologize." I narrow my eyes before deciding that fighting isn't worth it.

"I'm sorry that I questioned your decisions, Jim. Please forgive me." He slides my plate back.

"I forgive you. Who could stay mad at a face like that?"

"I'm more than just a face."

"You are. Did I offend you?"

"Yes."

"Sorry. Anyways, this party…"

"What about it?"

"You're going to be the youngest one there, probably. The prettiest, too."

"And?"

"So everyone is going to be looking at you. I need a way to make them all know that you're mine."

"I think the scars are good enough."

"Maybe I should add some more," he asks with a grin spreading across his face as he plucks the knife from his jacket pocket. I shake my head and back away from him, eyes wide and expression probably one of pure terror. He nods and backs me against the wall, tracing a finger along my arm until he reaches my shoulder, where the scars from the men who kidnapped Jim and I shine white against my skin. He freezes then and drops the knife, letting me go and covering his face with his hands.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I almost actually did it again. I'm really sorry." I look back at him and take a ragged breath. Why is he acting like this? He usually has no problem hurting me.

"Darling, I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. I almost hurt you." I realize then that he hasn't physically injured me since he slapped me for laughing at him with Jamie. He's truly been making an effort to be kind to me. That makes me feel warm on the inside, but I push that away. I don't care about Jim Moriarty.

"Darling, please forgive me. Please. I didn't mean to scare you, I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's okay." He looks hopefully at me.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He smiles genuinely and I fold my arms across my chest protectively. I push away the felling of happiness that came after Jim smiled. What's wrong with me?

"I bought you a dress. And shoes. Go put them on, I want to see them on you." I head upstairs with a shrug and open up the closet, freezing in disbelief at the sight before me. The dress is gorgeous, it has to cost at least two thousand dollars. It's beautiful, a pale blue with a thin belt of diamonds circling just below the bust. The bottom flows freely, making it look like a waterfall. It's truly beautiful. I look down and see a pretty pair of shoes that match. They have to be at least four inch heels with diamonds sprinkled on the top and covering the heel. Knowing Jim, they're probably real. I slip off my pajamas and slide the dress on, struggling with the zipper before deciding I'll just get Jim to help me with it. I slip my heels on, teetering only slightly. I walk carefully down the stairs, holding my dress up so it doesn't slide off.

"Darling, let go of the dress. You can't hold it all night." I roll my eyes.

"Just zipper this. I'm not in the mood for sarcasm." He zippers it and I twirl around, admiring my reflection in the window.

"This is gorgeous, Jim. Thank you."

"No problem, darling. I just want everyone else to see you as beautiful as I do." I smile slightly, but grimace inwardly. I don't know how to take compliments from Jim, because I can never tell if they're genuine or not. I smooth the dress down before I decide I should probably change out of it before I have a chance to ruin it.

"Darling, start getting ready."

"You said the party was tonight."

"It is. It's also a eight hour drive." I groan. I despise car rides.

"Don't you have, like, some super secret spy technology that can make us get there faster?"

"I'm a criminal, not a spy."

"Can't you just make death threats to everyone so I don't have to sit in the car for eight hours?" He chuckles at me and cups my face in his hand, brushing his thumb along my cheek, making me flinch badly.

"You're just adorable. I just love how cute you are." I glare at him and he drops his hand away.

"You better not do that on the way there. I won't be able to take eight hours of sitting in a confined area with you if you're going to do stuff like that. Who knows, I might end up committing my first murder if you annoy me too much." He chuckles at me again before turning me around and pushing me gently towards the stairs.

"Death threats don't sound good coming out of that pretty little mouth. Keep it shut and get ready." I shrug and head back upstairs, searching for makeup. He's got to have some, right? Then again, why would he? Hopefully he wasn't an idiot and thought about the fact that I am a thirteen year old girl who needs makeup.

"JIM," I shout. He comes running up.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Do you have any makeup," I ask as sweetly as I can, noting the murderous glare on his face.

"Yes. Did you have to shout for me like that? You couldn't have come down to ask?"

"This was more fun. Where's the makeup?"

"In the closet."

"Thanks."

"Mhmm." I turn to the closet and search for the makeup, finding a large box. I rush to the bathroom and start applying it quickly so Jim doesn't get angry with me. I straighten my hair, which takes a whole hour to completely get rid of the curls. I turn around to put the makeup back, only to find Jim standing in the bathroom doorway with a smirk on his face. I blush deeply, hoping he didn't see me cursing when I burned myself.

"Oh. Hi. How much of that did you see?"

"All of it. You look very pretty, darling."

"Thanks." He frowns slightly.

"A year and a half. Remember when you couldn't even talk properly around me? I remember that. You used to stutter. It was so cute."

"A year and a half," I repeat quietly. How many years will it be before he decides to let me go? Will he ever let me go?

"You used to be so afraid of me. It was absolutely adorable. Maybe you could pretend to be afraid tonight and be super adorable for me?"

"No." His face darkens.

"Pretend, or I will make you remember why you used to be afraid of the big, bad wolf." I snicker at that.

"The big, bad wolf?" He grabs the nearest item, the cup that holds our toothbrushes, and chucks it at me. I instinctively turn away and it hits the side of my head, making me stumble and leaving me disoriented. I bring a hand to my head and pull it back, relieved at the lack of blood.

"Will you need any more reminders, or do you understand?"

"N-No."

"You're stuttering again! So cute, my little pet is. Come here, darling." I don't move and he rolls his eyes.

"Darling, come here." Jim motions for me and I shake my head and back away from him.

"COME HERE," he shouts and I flinch. I stumble over towards him. He smiles at me as he wraps his arms around me.

"That wasn't hard, now was it? Should've come over here in the first place." He strokes my hair, being sure to touch the injured part of my head. I flinch badly, even though he touches it gently, so he digs his fingers into the injury. I let out a strangled yell and he lets go, frowning.

"How badly did that hurt? On a scale from one to ten."

"Eight," I say shakily, trying to catch my breath and not topple over. He furrows his eyebrows and pulls out a knife, but this one looks more like a dagger. I just stare at him as he walks forward, right behind me. He slowly drags the knife across my back and I scream. That's deep.

"How about that," he murmurs.

"Nine," I say, even shakier. He grabs a towel and places over the cut, stopping the blood from dripping all over the place.

"I-Is that going to n-need stitches," I ask quietly.

"Definitely."

"A-Are you going to let me get them, o-or am I-I going to d-die from blood loss?"

"I won't let you die. Don't worry, darling, I know how to give stitches. I don't, however, have anything to knock you out, so you'll be conscious for it." He leads me to the bed, making me lay face down so he can grab the first-aid kit. He comes back upstairs, whistling, as if he didn't just cause me a lot of pain and stitches.

"This is going to hurt. A lot. Try to keep the screaming down, darling, I've got a headache." I clench my jaw as he makes the first stitch, successfully keeping my scream inside. The next one, however, I end up screaming loudly.

"Darling, I told you I have a headache."

"S-Sorry, it h-hurts."

"I wouldn't've had to do this if someone did what they were told and came over when I told them to."

"I-I'm s-sorry. I-It h-hurts." He rubs my back just below the cut comfortingly.

"It's alright, darling, I understand. It's normal to be afraid of me, I just thought that you were better than normal." He resumes the stitches, and I manage to keep all of my screams in. It ends up taking twenty seven stitches and an hour.

"Finished. Do try not to rip them, that would be awful. I'm not washing the blood off, either. Leave it there as a reminder of why you need to respect me." He helps me sit up, slowly so I don't hurt myself, and my head starts to spin.

"J-Jim," I mutter, trying not to fall off of the bed.

"What is it, darling," he asks softly. I bring my hand to my head, trying to keep it from aching so badly.

"Hurts."

"I know."

"Sleepy." He looks panicked for a moment.

"Don't fall asleep, love."

"Feel like I'm falling."

"Try to stand." I slowly stand up, leaning on Jim heavily.

"The heels," I mutter, kicking them off. It makes it easier to stand.

"What shoes are you going to wear now?"

"Converse."

"You can't wear converse and a gown."

"I can and will."

"Are you serious right now? I just gave you a minor concussion and a cut so big you needed twenty seven stitches and you're still going to argue with me?"

"Not arguing. I already won. Converse."

"No, darling."

"Yes." I bend over and reach into the closet to grab them when Jim pushes me over and I fall into the closet. He closes the door and locks it on me.

"Jim!"

"Tell me you won't wear the Converse and I'll let you out."

"Jim, please just let me out."

"Tell me."

"Jim please," I plead, desperation heavy in my voice. I have claustrophobia, and I feel a panic attack coming.

"Tell. Me."

"Jim, let me out! Please let me out! Let me out, please!" I start hyperventilating when there's no answer.

"I won't wear the Converse! Please, let me out!" I start pounding on the door. No answer. I sink back, trying to calm down, but my heart is beating like crazy. The whole room is spinning, I'm shaking badly, I feel nauseous. I can't breathe, the walls are closing in. I need to get out, I'm going to die. The door suddenly flings open and I see an angry Jim, but I barely register this as I try to stop shaking.

"Get up. Get up now." Jim yanks me up by my arm and throws me down on the floor. I finally manage to catch my breath and sigh with relief once I realize that my panic attack is over. Jim stands over me, watching me with a glare.

"I told you not to wear the Converse. Why are you shaking so badly? You can't possibly be that afraid of me."

"I have claustrophobia. I was having a panic attack because I haven't had my medication for a year and a half."

"What medication?"

"My anxiety medication."

"You have anxiety?"

"Ever since you killed my family, yes. I had to go to therapy for a whole week before the therapist kicked me out."

"How do you get kicked out of therapy?"

"Long story, but it's apparently rude to try to diagnose the therapist if you don't have a degree in psychology."

"Alright then." He pulls me to my feet, slightly more gently this time, and hands me a pair of pale blue flats that match the gown. I slip them on, biting my lip so I don't blurt out what I want to say. Jim tilts my head so he can look me in the eyes.

"I can tell you want to say something. What is it?"

"The Converse would be more comfortable," I whisper cautiously, knowing he'll be able to spot a lie. To my surprise, he smiles at me and hugs me.

"I'll miss your sarcasm." I furrow my eyebrows.

"Going somewhere?"

"Business trip."

"How long?"

"Month, probably."

"Is Seb going, too," I ask, hoping the answer is no so Jim doesn't leave me alone with one of the weird people that works for him.

"If all turns out well, no." I don't get a chance to ask about why he's being so cryptic because he suddenly drags me down the stairs. I groan as he throws me in the backseat, making me land hard on my back.

"I think you might have ripped the stitches," I gasp out. Jim slides in next to me and sits me up so he can look at my back.

"Nope, dear."

"Dear?"

"Darling can get tiring to say. The stitches are not ripped, however."

"Good to know." He leans forward to talk to the driver.

"You know where. Listen to my conversations, and I'll blow your family's brains out."

"Yes, Mr. Moriarty, sir." Jim slides closed the little window thing on the barrier and turns to me, only to find me reading.

"Really, Adalia? It's like those books are attached to you." I just hum as my answer, already getting absorbed in my book. I think Jim pulls his phone out, but I can't really be sure. I'm vaguely aware of talking, but I ignore it as I continue my book.

Jim suddenly rips the book out of my hands and I turn to look at him angrily.

"What was that for," I ask grumpily.

"It's been three hours."

"It's an eight hour drive."

"I was screaming death threats at the top of my lungs and you didn't even flinch."

"I was reading," I say as if that should explain everything.

"You're not going to be for the next five hours. All these books, it can't be good for you." I narrow my eyes at him and then shrug nonchalantly. I pull out my phone and open up the digital reading app, buying the e-book with Jim's credit card and resuming from the page I left off on.

Jim eventually slaps the phone out of my hand. I turn to look at him with a smug expression.

"Three. Hours. You've been reading for another three hours."

"You said absolutely nothing about e-books." He rolls his eyes.

"You are not going to read- books or e-books- for the rest of the drive there. You can use your phone again if you promise you won't read e-books on it."

"I promise." He hands me my phone and I open the internet up happily. I pick a fanfiction, one the length of an actual book, and read it eagerly. Jim snatches that after a little while.

"You promised."

"And I kept it."

"You were reading."

"Not an e-book."

"You were reading, on your phone. It had chapters and everything."

"It was a fanfiction. I kept my promise. No e-books."

"What the hell is a fanfiction?"

"A fictional story written by a fan using the characters of a TV show, book, or movie."

"So you were reading a story about a story?"

"Yes. Not an e-book." He opens the window and throws my phone out of it. I cross my arms and pout.

"You're paying for a new one."

"I pay for all of your things. You should be thankful."

"Yes, I'm so thankful a psycho kidnapped me and complains about how much it costs to keep me. So very sorry that I'm not being appreciative of the concussion you gave me."

"Watch your tone."

"How much longer 'til we get there?"

"Ask the driver."

"But then you'll kill his family."

"I promise I won't." I slide the window open.

"Mr. Driver, how much longer until we get to whatever mysterious place it is that Jimmy is taking me to against my will?"

"An hour and a half, Miss." I huff as I slide the window thingy shut again.

"What am I supposed to do for an hour and a half?"

"Dunno. Occupy yourself," Jim says, already back on his phone. I poke him in the stomach and he looks up from his phone angrily.

"What do you want," he asks in a low tone.

"If I have a conversation with the driver, you have to promise not to hurt or kill him or his family."

"I promise, now leave me alone, darling." I happily slide the window thing open again.

"Hey, Mr. Driver. Jim says that I need to occupy myself, and I can have a conversation with you if you want. Please help me, I'm dying of boredom."

"Don't know what to do about that, Miss."

"You can call me Adalia, Mr. Driver."

"You can call me Paul."

"Hello, Paul. So, what's it like to drive for eight hours? It sounds pretty boring." He shrugs.

"Money's good."

"Yeah, but it's gotta be boooooring. How do you keep yourself awake?"

"Well, the knowledge that my family will be killed if I don't do good enough tends to keep me awake."

"Paul," Jim says in a warning tone, not looking up from his phone.

"Sorry, Mr. Moriarty, sir."

"Don't mind him, he's just a big old grump."

"Darling," Jim says in a warning tone. I lean on him and put my head on his shoulder.

"Sorry, Mr. Moriarty, sir," I say in a tone as serious as I can make it. He looks up and raises an eyebrow at me. I mimic his expression. He scowls, so I scowl too.

"Darling, get off of me."

"But I'm apologiziiiiiiing, Jim. You have to forgive me first."

"What did you even do that you need to apologize for?"

"I told Paul that you were a big old grump."

"I forgive you, now get off. You're ruining my suit."

"But this is comfortable, Jim."

"Not for me. You have a pointy chin, you know that?"

"Pleeeeeeeease, Jim. I won't even look at your phone."

"That's a lie. Get off, or I will cut you again."

"But, Jim. Just hear me out, alright?" He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"What?"

"If you let me stay like this, I'll shut up. For the rest of the ride. And I'll behave at this party thing. I'll be a little angel. And… I can't think of anything else to bribe you with, but please let me stay like this."

"Why?"

"'Cause you're warm."

"You're like a cat."

"Nuh-uh. Not a cat. I hate those things."

"You can stay there, darling. But you have to say you love cats." I scrunch my nose up.

"But I'm allergic to cats."

"If you're not going to say it, get off."

"Fine. I love cats." He wraps an arm around me and moves me closer to him. I snuggle as close to him as possible. Very warm. It's cozy. I don't like to think about how I used to start shaking at even the smallest touch from him and now I'm letting him wrap his arms around me and enjoying it.

"Jim, where are we going? Where is this mysterious party at?"

"A place eight hours from London."

"Which place?"

"An expensive one."

"Paul, where are you driving?"

"Afraid I can't tell you, Miss."

"Jim, who's going to be at this party?"

"People."

"What's this party for?"

"My birthday."

"It's your birthday?"

"Yes." I try to hide my grin as I look up at him.

"Happy birthday, psycho." He grins down at me and kisses my forehead.

"So sentimental. We're almost there, you can read if you want." I eagerly pick up my book and resume reading. Jim strokes my hair and mutters something about missing me dearly, but I ignore him.

 **Not my best. Sorry it's been forever. Get ready for a ton of updates today, and thanks to all the people who are still here!**


	25. Chapter 24

When we arrive at some fancy, expensive mansion that looks identical to Jim's, I climb clumsily out of the car and stretch. Jim snaps at me to not do that because it doesn't look 'ladylike'. I snap back at him that neither does the blood on my back, but he's not complaining about that. He just scowls and drags me through the doors by the arm.

"Is this another mansion of yours or something," I ask as he walks through the hallways I would've gotten lost in by now.

"Yep. I own a lot of mansions."

"Oh." We stop in front of a wood and ornately carved door. Jim smooths down his suit before he opens the door and walks in. Everyone looks up and the conversation stops abruptly. Jim waves to everyone, giving them a charming smile I've labelled 'the charming smile of death'. They all cheer back and I see a few women in the back swoon, until Jim pulls me forward next to him and kisses my cheek. They scowl at me after that. I wave timidly and the conversations resume as Jim leads me into the large ballroom. Instantly, people rush forward to say hello and wish Jim a happy birthday. They ignore me for the most part, which I have no problem with.

"Hello, Mr. Moriarty, happy birthday," a woman with a heavy Irish accent says when she walks up to Jim. He genuinely smiles, instead of the fake smile he's given everyone else since we arrived.

"Thank you, Miss Moriarty." She playfully smacks his chest.

"Just stick with Janine, Jimmy." He pulls her into a tight hug.

"It's been forever."

"If you came back for Christmas this year, you wouldn't've missed me so much."

"I couldn't leave Adalia with Seb for Christmas, that would be awful. She can be very persuasive, you see, and I might've come back to find that she was no longer there."

"Adalia?"

"That's this gorgeous young lady who's accompanying me tonight." Janine turns to look at me and I freeze, wide eyed, in the middle of attempting to cram a whole cream puff in my mouth. Jim just closes his eyes.

"She's usually more well-behaved than this." I close my mouth and try to swallow the cream puff as fast as I can, resulting in me choking on it while Jim just stares at me with exasperation. I finally manage to swallow it, face flushed red from embarrassment and lack of oxygen, to find Janine doubled over with laughter and Jim with his head in his hand.

"Uh, is it too late for a good first impression," I ask.

"Oh, dear, Jim always did pick the funny ones. I'm Janine Moriarty, Jim's sister."

"Hello. Adalia Shonley. Live-in… fuck, Jim, what was the rest of that?"

"Language, darling."

"Yeah, yeah. What was it that you called me that one time?"

"Janine, this is Adalia, my live-in ordinary person."

"Yeah! That's it!" Janine laughs at me again.

"Jimmy, this one is anything but ordinary."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"So what happened to… Liv, was it?"

"She got on my last nerve and I killed her. She cried, it was so pathetic. Adalia wouldn't cry if I tried to kill her," Jim says proudly. I furrow my eyebrows.

"Liv?"

"My last one. You weren't the first." Janine doesn't seem to hear our conversation or is ignoring this revelation. How many other girls did Jim do this to?

"You wouldn't cry if Jimmy tried to kill you?"

"I cry daily because he won't. He's mean like that. He gets violent and shouts death threats at me, but I ask him to just shoot me through the head, and suddenly, he would never kill me. I don't get it."

"No one understands him, dear. Don't take it too hard."

"So, Janine, where's yours," Jim asks nonchalantly, as if he isn't talking about people who've been kidnapped.

"Getting me some punch."

"You just let him wander off?"

"He won't run. I know it." I cross my arms.

"You're talking about people, here. Not animals. People you've kidnapped and traumatized." Jim pats my head.

"Good for you, still having your morals after all this time. Now hush, darling, the grown ups are talking." My anger flares and I lose my temper.

"No, I won't _hush_! A year and a half I've endured your shit! At least treat me like a human being!" Jim's face darkens and he turns to face me. He leans in close, his face inches from mine.

"I said: _Shut. Up_. Would you like more stitches, Adalia, or is twenty seven enough? I've about had it with you and your disrespect for me. I gave you a home, I've shown you kindness, I've let you do a lot of things the others never got to. I haven't killed you yet. I could hurt you so much, I could hurt you so bad that you would think today was a good day. Watch what you say." My confidence is suddenly replaced with fear.

"S-Sorry." He lights up with excitement and hugs me.

"Aw, you remembered what I wanted for my birthday! Thank you, darling, it's a nice gift."

"Jimmy, get off of her. She's terrified." Jim lets go and rolls his eyes at Janine.

"Obviously, that was the point. Honestly, are we even related, Janine?" I tune out their bickering as I realize someone else has walked over. He looks to be about my age, dressed in an expensive looking suit, with short brown hair and green eyes. He's hot. Like, a ten. He smiles at me, a half smile, and I see something strangely familiar in his expression. I realize it's something I see when I look in the mirror, pain and sadness and desperation, desperate to get away from something. He doesn't seem to be listening to either of them. I put the pieces together. This is Janine's live-in ordinary person. I see a few scars on the back of his hand.

"Oh, Lucas, I didn't even notice you were back," Janine says, turning to talk to him.

"Um, they were out of punch."

"That's alright. Lucas, this is my brother, Jim."

"Hi." Jim looks from him to me then rolls his eyes.

"Really, Adalia?" I close my eyes and clench my jaw.

"Please don't."

"But, really, darling-"

"Jim, please don't. At least leave me with a _little_ bit of dignity." He smiles and cups my cheek in his hand.

"Darling, I told you I'd make you pay."

"Please, you can do whatever you want when we get home, just please don't say it."

"But why wouldn't you want Lucas to know you had an instant crush on him?" My face turns the color of a ruby as I look down at the floor, avoiding Jim's smirk. My heart is somewhere inside my stomach, having turned as heavy as a rock.

"Darling, why are you blushing so badly?" I bite my lip, wanting this to be over.

"On the bright side, at least he didn't see you cramming a cream puff in your mouth and then choking on it." I blush even deeper until Lucas says something.

"You managed to fit a whole cream puff in your mouth? I've been trying to do that all night, and I can only get half." I look up and smile at him.

"It took me the whole time I've been here, but I managed to do it. The choking on the cream puff part wasn't planned, though."

"You should show me how to do that." I look up at Jim, who nods reluctantly and drops my hand. I run off with Lucas to the other side of the ballroom, both of us giggling.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Adalia Shonley, nice to meet you."

"Lucas Conroe. Nice to meet you, too."

"I don't mean to pry, but did Janine kidnap you?"

"Yeah. I'm assuming Jim kidnapped you?"

"Yep."

"Oh. Is he as crazy as Janine?"

"Probably. How bad is Janine?"

"On a scale from one to ten, she's a seven."

"Jim too. Except… More like seven and a half. He likes physical evidence that he hurt me. He likes seeing me bleed and the bruises."

"What d'you mean?"

"Like this." I spin around so he can see my back, which is on display since the gown dips in a V all the way to my lower back. "He cut me and gave me stitches and all, but he refused to clean off the blood, because he said it could be a reminder of why I need to behave."

"That's awful. Janine gave me a pretty nasty cut on my arm this morning, but she wiped the blood off so my shirt wouldn't get ruined."

"If only Jim was that considerate," I say sarcastically and he nods solemnly before we both bust out laughing.

"This is going to sound weird… But I sort of care about Janine. I don't know why, but I do. She can be nice sometimes, and those are the times that stick in my head."

"I sort of feel like that about Jim, too. We probably just have Stockholm."

"Yeah, probably."

"I hate myself sometimes. I wake up and I just hate myself for caring about him. But I still do and I don't know why I'm telling this to someone I just met."

"No, I understand. I feel the same way most times." There's an awkward silence until Lucas breaks it with a solemn whisper.

"Can I let you in on a secret."

"Sure."

"I liked you the moment I saw you, too." I blush and smile at the floor.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He plucks two cream puffs off of the tray behind us and hands one to me.

"I was being serious. You must show me how to fit a whole cream puff in your mouth." Spend the next five minutes teaching him how to fit a whole cream puff in your mouth until he finally accomplishes it. We high five and jump up and down, causing some people to look strangely at us, which we ignore. Janine and Jim walk over to find us trying to chew the cream puffs, which Janine finds funnier than Jim.

"Darling, are you ladylike at all?"

"'Ope." He hands me a napkin.

"Spit it out." I reluctantly open my mouth and let the cream puff drop to the napkin, which Jim hands to the nearest waiter. I turn to see Janine telling Lucas to do the same and turn back around with an eye roll.

"Darling, they're going to play a slow song next. Come on." I bite my lip.

"I can't dance," I mumble. He raises an eyebrow at me before shrugging.

"Just wing it and try not to fall."

"But what if I _do_ fall?"

"Then I'll catch you."

"What if we _both_ fall?"

"Then no one but Janine will have enough nerve to laugh." I reluctantly allow him to drag me onto the dance floor. He smiles gently and holds out his hand.

"May I have this dance?"

"Don't have much choice, do I," I ask, placing my hand in his. He weaves his fingers with mine and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me in close. He holds our hands out to the side and I look up at him nervously.

"What do I do with my other hand," I mumble to his chest.

"Put it on my back," he mumbles into my hair. I do as he says and he nods approvingly.

"Alright, we're just going to move in circles, nice and simple. Step right… now forward… good, now left… and backwards. Do all of those steps again, nice and simple, right? Good, you're getting the hang of this."

"Thanks. Oh, sorry!" I accidentally step on his foot and he winces.

"It's alright, you're still learning. You're better at it than Liv, she stepped on my feet at least twelve times before she got the hang of it."

"How many were there," I blurt out. "The other girls, I mean. How many of them were there before me?"

"Ten. Ten other girls. I killed all of them after a few months. None of them made it past a year. But you, Adalia, are different. In a good way. You're strong and smart and funny and kind. And I can't figure it out for the life of me, but I don't want you dead. I want you happy and alive."

"Did you ever think about killing me?"

"Only once. I changed my mind immediately, decided you were too perfect to kill."

"Would you ever kill me?"

"I honestly don't know." The song ends and Jim attempts to lead me off the dance floor, but I lean into him, a silent plea for one more dance. He smiles and resumes the simple circles as another classical song plays in the background.

"Darling, I have a question for you, now."

"Okay."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"Terrified."

"Why are you dancing with me, then?" I clench my jaw. I don't like the honest answer, so I'll just have to lie.

"It's a party. That's what people do at parties. If you don't want me to, I'll stop."

"I want you to go dance with Lucas. You obviously both like each other, you're young, and I've taken too much from you already. I refuse to take away the possibility of a relationship with him." He drops my hand and nudges me gently. I rush off towards Lucas with child-like giddiness.

"Wanna dance?"

"I'd love to." We rush out onto the dance floor just as a faster, more upbeat song comes on. We smile at each other and start dancing like that one weird uncle I used to have before he went M.I.A. in Afghanistan. Jim and Janine come over when we're on about our fifth song, both laughing hysterically.

"Neither of you can dance. We just thought you should know that," Jim says through his laughter. I stick my tongue out at him and continue doing the sprinkler. My legs suddenly give out underneath me and I fall. Jim catches me and hastily picks me up, carrying me away from the dance floor and towards the drink table, picking up a water.

"Concussions and dancing apparently don't mix," I say, laughing weakly. He looks down at me with concern.

"This is my fault. Open your mouth, you should drink some water, it'll help." I open my mouth and let him tilt the glass back so a small stream of water lands in my dry mouth. I swallow and struggle to keep my eyes open.

"Tired," I mumble.

"Don't fall asleep, love."

"I'll try. It's loud in here."

"I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't've lost my temper with you."

"Why did you throw that at me? I forget."

"I wanted you to be afraid of me again. Starting to regret it." He carries me down a few hallways.

"I like your hair, Jim. Did I ever tell you that? It's soft and fluffy and… Fluffy!"

"Darling-"

"Fluffy the three headed dog!"

"What?"

"Flute, Jim!"

"What?"

"Give me the flute!"

"What? Why do you need a flute?"

"No time for questions! Hogwarts is in danger!"

"Hog- Are you rambling about Harry Potter again?"

"The flute!"

"Hang on."

"No, too late. Fluffy mauled my face off, all because you wouldn't give me the flute. Nice job." He kicks open a door and lays me down gently on something. Something soft. He sits next to me on whatever it is and rests his hand lightly on my arm.

"What? Where are we?" I try to sit up, but he gently pushes me back down.

"We're in one of the bedrooms."

"Why?"

"Because you have a concussion and need to rest."

"I want nachos."

"Mhmm." I stand up before he can stop me and run. I make it to the front doors. This is it, the day I finally escape, finally-

"ADALIA!" Shit. Jim runs down the hallway after me as I struggle with the heavy door. I pull on it, trying as hard as I can. I turn around to see Jim has made it halfway down the hallway no, he's getting closer, he's right behind me. He puts a hand on my shoulder before I can open the door and I start crying, sobbing uncontrollably. He wraps his strong arms around me and rubs my back soothingly.

"I j-just want to g-get away from y-you."

"You know too much, love. I can't let that happen," he says softly. I cry even harder and he kisses the top of my head.

"Please don't cry, Adalia. Please. I like you, and I want you to be happy, but the one thing I can't do is let you go. You have to understand that."

"I'm scared. I just want to be normal and live a normal, boring life, but you ruined it for me, now I never know what is going to happen, and I don't like not knowing, and I don't like you, but I care about you and you make me happy and you terrify me at the same time." He hugs me tighter.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm sorry I make you feel like this. But, on the bright side, today is the day you get to leave."

"What are you talking about?" Jim points out the small window on the door, where red and blue lights are flashing.

"Police are here." I look up at him in shock and disbelief and happiness.

"I… get to leave?"

"I don't think they're going to arrest you, unless you have some criminal record I don't know about."

"You're not going to try to run?" He shakes his head.

"Nope."

"Why not?" He shrugs.

"I'm going to make a deal. They arrest me, they can't take anyone else. All of the others walk free."

"You've never seemed like the type who believed in self sacrifice."

"What can I say? You've changed me for the better."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You're just that amazing. You, Adalia Shonley, are extraordinary." He kisses my forehead and rests his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes, staring straight through me. The door bursts open and neither Jim nor I look away, but I can see there are a lot of people with guns, all aiming at Jim.

"James Moriarty, step away from that girl," the one in the front (probably the detective inspector) shouts. Jim raises his hand and gently strokes my hair, the last time he'll probably ever have the chance to do that. I close my eyes and let out a trembling breath. He tilts my chin up and I open my eyes to look at him. The DI keeps shouting for Jim to step away, but he doesn't listen and I tune him out, focusing on Jim. I think I might miss him, but the joy of being free is stronger right now. Jim kisses my forehead and mumbles in my ear.

"Be a good girl, Adalia. Daddy's got to leave for a bit. This is goodbye, darling."

"Well, then, goodbye, Jimmy Jim." He smiles softly and backs away, hands raised. Three officers rush forward to handcuff him and he snaps his eyes off of me.

"In exchange for coming peacefully, I want you to let the others go," he says loudly. Everyone turns to look at the DI, who I notice has gray hair, although he looks a but young to be gray. The DI, however, is looking at a curly haired man. I recognize him instantly.

"Sherlock!" The shout exits my mouth before I even realize it. A couple of officers, one brown and curly haired and one bearded with brown hair, look at me with confusion. I see Sherlock nod and mumble something to the DI, who looks reluctant but nods to everyone else. They all head out to arrest Jim, and Sherlock, John, and the detective inspector all walk over to me.

"Look, she's thirteen and she's in shock. Be careful," the gray haired man says to Sherlock, trying to keep me from hearing and failing. I cross my arms across my chest.

"I may be thirteen, but I am not in shock. Don't treat me like some pathetic six year old who can't take care of herself, thank you very much." Sherlock smiles and John nods.

"I see you still haven't changed a bit, Adalia. Still as rebellious as ever," John says with a half smile. The gray haired man looks confused.

"Hang on, you two know each other?"

"Yes, Greg. This is the girl from the pool, remember Sherlock and I told you about her? The one who was living with Moriarty against her will?"

"Oh, you're the girl who had enough nerve to curse out the world's only consulting criminal."

"No, I'm Adalia Shonley, and I refuse to be called 'the girl who' over and over again. Jim's been treating me like less than human for seventeen months now, I don't need more people joining in." I'm very defensive, but I'm also having trouble standing, so I don't think I can be blamed.

"Right, sorry. I'm Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade."

"Nice to meet you, Detective Inspector Lestrade. Nice to see you again, Sherlock and John. Is there an ambulance here?"

"No, why," Lestrade asks. I squeeze my eyes shut and lean on a wall as another wave of pain rolls through me.

"I have a mild concussion and I'm having trouble staying awake." John instantly rushes over, probably from years of medical instincts.

"How did you get a concussion?" I glance up at Sherlock and nod. He smiles and opens his mouth so he can spew out deductions.

"You were wearing heels earlier today, bruises on your arms and legs from being pushed, and Moriarty is a naturally violent man. He pushed you and you lost your balance in the heels, landing on your head."

"No, actually. He threw a glass at me and it hit my head. Please, someone call an ambulance or get me to a hospital or something, it hurts so bad."

"Yeah, I bet it does. Come on, Adalia." John leads me outside and calls an ambulance, which arrives shortly after. I sit in the back, letting them examine me and ask questions. As it turns out, Jim can not give stitches, and so I'll be in the hospital overnight. That, and they want to make sure the concussion isn't too serious. When John and Sherlock try to climb in the back of the ambulance with me, both of them feeling protective of me for some reason, the medics try to shoo them away.

"Sorry, only family," one of them says to Sherlock and John. I sigh. I don't have any family.

"Please, just let us in-" John argues.

"What's your relationship to her?"

"They're my dads," I blurt out. The medic steps aside.

"Sorry about that, misters."

"It's fine," John replies before sitting down next to me and holding my hand comfortingly. Sherlock raises an eyebrow, sending me a silent message: _Your dads?_ I scowl back at him, sending my own silent message: _Play along or I'll scream and get you kicked out_. He plays the part of nervous father after that, asking questions and assuring me everything will be alright.

"Oh, God, she'll be alright, won't she? Don't worry, Ad, it'll be alright." He rubs my back as if trying to calm me down and I throw up on him. He scoots away and plays the part of disgusted detective after that.

"What made you throw up? Are you feeling nauseous," John asks me. I shake my head.

"That's what Jim used to do when he wanted me to calm down." I don't mention how it worked, too.

"So, do you guys make a habit of showing up and rescuing people a year after you meet them, or am I special?"

"We thought you were dead, actually," Sherlock tells me and I raise my eyebrows.

"Why would you think that?"

"I heard it somewhere. Not important." I shrug and close my eyes, letting everything sink in. I'm free. He's gone, he can't control or hurt me anymore. I'm free from him. I let out a small laugh purely from relief. Then it sinks in that I have no where to go, seeing as my family is dead. I'll have to go to a foster home or orphanage or something. I let out a sob at that as the words imbed themselves in my heart again, hurting and aching nearly as bad as they did the first time I found out they were dead.

"Adalia, why are you crying?"

"They're dead. There wasn't a lot of time to mourn them before, but I just realized they're dead and I have no where to go."

"I'm sure someone will adopt you or something," John reassures me. I nod weakly before I finally stop struggling and let my eyes slip closed.

 **Well, plot twist! Not even close to done with this story.**


	26. Chapter 25

"Hey, Greggy," I slur, still a little delirious from the painkillers in my system right now. Greg raises an eyebrow at me as he sits down in my hospital room.

"Uh, hello, Adalia." I shake my head sternly.

"No."

"No?"

"Lia. Not Adalia, Lia."

"Uh, okay. Hello, Lia. How are you feeling?"

"Like Jim drugged me again."

"Moriarty drugged you?!"

"Yeah, loads of times."

"He drugged you more than once?"

"Yes, Gregory, keep up. He was a weird little leprechaun."

"Leprechaun?"

"Yeah, 'cause he was Irish and evil."

"Yeah, I think that I'll definitely have to take you to the station tomorrow. You're high right now."

"Only a little bit." I try to hold my index finger and thumb slightly apart so I can show how I'm not really that drugged up, but end up getting my arm tangled in the blanket. I shrug exaggeratedly.

"Maybe it's more than a little. Why're you here, Greggy?"

"I wanted to see how you're doing."

"Same as I was before. And definitely not in shock, thank you very much." He laughs and shakes his head.

"I'd love to stay, Lia, but my coffee break is over. Get better soon."

"Thanks Greggy." He nods as he walks out the door. I pretend to be asleep when the door opens again, but Sherlock's voice makes me open my eyes.

"It's me, I've got a case." I untangle my arm from the sheets and stop pretending to be high on the painkillers. I sit up eagerly.

"Is it interesting?"

"Very." I narrow my eyes at the lack of a folder. Private case, then.

"Ugh, not another private case. Those are so boring."

"This one relates to you in a personal way."

"How?"

"It's the case of who you're going to live with and where you're going to stay once you get out of the hospital."

"Hardly a case. Probably an orphanage where no on will adopt me and so I will live there until I'm a legal adult. Very depressing and mundane, Sherlock, and not something I want to talk about right now."

"But what if you didn't go to an orphanage, Lia?"

"Then I would end up in a foster home."

"Or John and I could adopt you." My chest floods with happiness at the idea, but I quickly push it away. Sherlock doesn't seem like the type who would willingly take care of a child.

"Not funny, Sherlock."

"Not a joke, Lia. I'm being serious. You could come live with John and I and work on cases, become my prodigy."

"Sherlock, I would love to!"

"Good, because Mycroft already got the papers notarized and you're legally mine." I raise an eyebrow at him.

"And what if I said no?"

"Then you'd be the one to explain to Mycroft why he went through all that trouble for nothing." I can't help but grin at him and he grins back.

"You care a lot about me for a sociopath, Sherlock."

"High functioning, actually."

"Mhmm. Oh my God, I've had the worst headache ever since Jim threw that at me."

"It can only be expected when you get a concussion, Adalia."

"But it huuuuuurts, Sherlock."

"I thought you were good at handling pain?"

"No, I'm good at hiding pain. It became a necessity, what with Jim complaining about how loudly I cry, which would only cause more pain in the end, because Jim is an 'evil leprechaun', as I told Greg."

"Greg?"

"Lestrade."

"Oh. I thought his name was Graham."

"Of course you did, you're an idiotic genius. Great big Mind Palace, can't even remember the name of someone you see nearly daily."

"Not too late to get Mycroft to give someone else your legal custody."

"How is Umbrella Man anyways?"

"Umbrella Man?"

"He's always got that damn umbrella. I just want to burn it sometimes."

"As do I."

"How is he, though? I haven't seen him since the first night."

"Wave hi to the camera in the corner over there," Sherlock mumbles to me. I smirk and look at the camera, waving once.

"Hello, Mycroft. Goodbye, Mycroft." I jump out of the bed and pick up the fork that was left on the table next to me from lunch and climb upon the chair below the camera before I smash the lens. Sherlock chuckles at me as I sit back down.

"The doctor told me you can leave today, so you can move in with John and I as soon as you're out of here."

"Finally! Four days in this place felt like a year with Jim."

"I don't understand. Normally, people are too traumatized to get on with their lives after something bad happens. But here you are, only four days later, joking about it." I shrug.

"Sherlock, I cried enough at the mansion, I'm not going to cry now that I'm out of it, because I'm out of it. Makes no sense to me."

"Doesn't make sense to me, either, but that's what people usually do."

"Hey, do you actually have any cases, or are you just here to mock my boredom?"

"I'm here to sign you out. I actually did, already." I jump up and rush out of the door, ripping off the hospital gown to reveal the jeans and t-shirt I insisted on wearing underneath. I slide on my sneakers by the door the nurse told me that I couldn't wear in the hospital bed and grab Sherlock by the hand, pulling him along with me.

"What are we waiting for, then?!" He stops me and looks at me sternly.

"Lia, we're in a hospital."

"Since when do you care about what's socially correct?" He smiles at me.

"I don't, I was thinking we could stop at the gift shop and buy some chocolates to celebrate." I smile back at him as we run down the hallways. One of the nurses stops us.

"This is a hospital! No running in the hallways!"

"We weren't running, Miss," I say with fake innocence. The nurse furrows her eyebrows and Sherlock points to me, mouthing, Short-term memory loss. She nods.

"Very sorry, ma'am, I'll try to keep a better eye on her," Sherlock says apologetically. She nods again and continues what she was doing. Sherlock and I walk calmly around the corner, resuming running as soon as we're out of sight.

"Short term memory loss? Really?"

"Got us out of there, didn't it?"

"But you have to think, Sherlock. There is one question you should always ask yourself before you do anything."

"And what is it?"

"Would John approve of that? Because John would definitely not approve of that."

"John wouldn't approve of you running through the hospital." I shrug.

"I don't have to worry as much. John is your boyfriend."

"Very true. However, John is used to me doing what I want, he's not used to two people throwing acceptable behaviors out the window."

"I'll tell him you told me to."

"Because he'll believe you?"

"Everyone does, Sherlock. Besides, John already knows how you are, he'd like to believe that you convinced me to run through a hospital instead of fact that there's basically a mini Sherlock."

"Mini Sherlock? Oh, John is going to have so much fun with the two of us on the loose." I stop running down the sidewalk and turn to face Sherlock.

"We were so busy talking, we completely missed the gift shop. No we can't get chocolate." He smiles brightly.

"Molly invited me to the morgue. She has candy. Let's go." He turns around and runs back into St. Bart's. I sigh and follow him, wishing his legs weren't so long.

"Slow down, Sherlock!"

"Why," he calls over his shoulder.

"I just got out of the hospital, that's why! I don't want to have to go back!" He stops suddenly and I run into him.

"Doesn't matter, we're at the morgue now anyways. Come on." He flings open the door and I follow him in to see the shy girl who I saw in the labs about a year ago. She smiles at Sherlock.

"Hi, Sherlock. Got my text, then?"

"Yes, Molly, why else would I be here," he says curtly. I see Molly's smile fade slightly. I slap Sherlock on the arm as I walk in.

"Be nice to Molly." Her face lights up with recognition and then she frowns.

"You're… Adalia, right?"

"Yes, hi. Nice to see you again, Molly."

"Nice to see you too. Sorry, aren't you Ji- Moriarty's daughter?" I tense a little at that, but try not to let it show.

"No, he kidnapped me. Not his daughter. Guess I'm Sherlock's daughter now."

"Sorry, what?"

"Sherlock adopted me because Jim killed my family," I say bluntly. It stings a little every time I say those words out loud. She looks at me with wide eyes, probably not sure what she should say to me stating it so calmly.

"Oh. I'm sorry for your loss. I know what it feels like to lose someone, I can't imagine-"

"Boring," Sherlock declares, losing patience with us. He looks at me and gives me a small nod, knowing how touchy this subject is for me. I smile back just a bit, but he really should've been nicer.

"I didn't come here to talk about dead people, I came here to look at them." I roll my eyes. Why does everyone I live with have to be a drama queen?

"Right, um, sorry. Wait. You're thirteen. Won't the dead bodies freak you out?"

"Nope," I reply, popping the 'p' and smiling.

"Really?"

"Jim brought dead bodies home all the time. I'll be fine." Both of them stare at me a little bit, probably wondering how I can say that so casually. I blink at them and then frown.

"Did I say something wrong?" They both shake their heads and Molly pulls one of the bodies out. I follow Sherlock to go look at it.

"How many times," he asks so Molly can't hear.

"Never. I saw a whole room full of dead bodies before, though. They were still bleeding. But Jim would never bring dead bodies home," I whisper back. Sherlock nods and starts examining the body, but I get bored and decide to go to one of the vending machines downstairs. I slip a few bills from Sherlock's pocket and slip out unnoticed (Sherlock is a crappy guardian, apparently).

When I walk to the vending machines, it's silent. No one is around. I freeze when I see Jim standing behind me, reflected in the glass. That's not possible. He's in prison. I slowly turn around, ready to face him, to find the hallway still deserted. I turn back around and look at my reflection again. Just me. My hands are shaking, though. I run back to the morgue and stand by Sherlock. He glances up.

"Why did you go to the vending machines if you weren't going to get- Why are you shaking and crying," Sherlock asks, looking at me with concern. I shake my head and try to steady my hands.

"I'm not shaking or crying. I don't know what you're talking about, Sherlock." I shake my head and smile to emphasize my point, but Sherlock pulls me into a tight hug, and I completely lose it and start sobbing.

"Molly, I'll be back tomorrow. I have to take care of Lia. Thanks for the thumbs," He says before guiding me gently out the door and into a taxi that magically appears for him. We sit in silence the whole way home, because Sherlock magically knows I don't want to talk about it yet. He helps me up the stairs at 221B and I sit down in one of the armchairs. Sherlock crouches down in front of me.

"Lia, what happened?"

"I-I was getting crisps from the vending machine, and I-I saw h-him. I saw him in the reflection, and he was standing behind me, but that's ridiculous, because there was nobody there and he's in prison, so he can't get to me. Right?"

"He can't get to you, Lia. I will protect you from him. I promise. You said you saw him in your reflection, standing behind you?" I nod. He reaches up to brush my tears away with his thumb, but I flinch violently and he quickly draws his hand back.

"Is that something that he used to do?" I nod and Sherlock nods back, though he looks more like he's seeing something he didn't see before.

"And in the ambulance, when you threw up on me, was it because I was rubbing your back?" I nod again.

"Anything else I should know about?"

"Don't- Don't stroke my hair. Or put your hands on my cheeks. And pointing knives at me isn't a great idea, either."

"Why would I point a knife at you?"

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. And John told me you do a whole bunch of weird experiments, too." He smiles softly at me and hugs me gently.

"Alright. No knife pointing. I'll tell John about the other things, too, okay?" I nod and wipe my tears away. This is the last time I will ever cry because of _him._


	27. Chapter 26

About a month into living with Sherlock and John, I find out what it means for Sherlock to be truly bored. He comes in the door way and slams the end of a pole on the ground and that's when I take in his full appearance. He's covered in blood and holding a harpoon. I close my eyes and try to avoid thinking it, but I end up blurting it out.

"Pretty red blood," I say without meaning to. Sherlock and John don't question it. They heard about it when Greg asked me to tell him everything that happened when I was with Jim, and I had to describe everything that happened in detail. So they choose to ignore it like I asked them to if I blurt out weird things.

"Well that was tedious." I raise an eyebrow.

"You went on the Tube like that?"

"None of the cabs would take me."

"Sherlock, go get changed before you get blood all over the place and Mrs. Hudson has a fit," I say sternly. He marches off to his room, resembling a small child. John looks up from his newspaper to look at me.

"Pretty red blood," he asks gently. I close my eyes as flashbacks of that day come back to me, and I can almost feel the stinging pain in my arm and the overwhelming fear. I take deep breaths and count to ten. When I open my eyes, the flashbacks have stopped.

"Don't remember that one," he says softly, referring to the things I often say without meaning to, like 'Please don't', 'I'm sorry', 'It's not my fault', and frantically apologizing to no one. They usually happen when I have nightmares or flashbacks. I shrug.

"There was a lot of blood. First thing I thought of."

"Maybe you should-"

"I'm not going to therapy, John."

"It could help, Lia."

"It didn't help you."

"I don't have my limp anymore, do I?"

"That was because of Sherlock, not your therapist. If I recall, you stopped going to therapy after one month."

"Could you maybe give it a try?"

"My last therapist kicked me out. Besides, John, I'm fine. I don't need therapy. I'm absolutely fine."

"Sounds like you're trying to tell that to yourself more than me." I roll my eyes and shout to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, do you think I need to go to therapy?"

"Absolutely not," he shouts back. I smile smugly at John.

"See? Absolutely fine."

"Sherlock is a sociopath. He wouldn't understand."

"How could he be a sociopath if he loves you? See, his opinion is valid, John, and so I don't have to go to therapy."

"Fine. I can't make you go if you don't want to, and you obviously don't. I'm just saying, Lia, it could help stop the flashbacks and nightmares." I bite my lip. Not all of the flashbacks are bad, and that's why I don't want them to stop. Sometimes, it won't be a flashback of Jim yelling at me or hurting me, it'll be a flashback of Jim talking to me in a hushed tone and stroking my hair softly after I have a nightmare. Sure, it's more often a bad one than not, but the good ones are worth suffering a small amount of fear for a small amount of time.

"John, is there something wrong with me," I ask quietly. He looks concerned.

"What makes you ask that?"

"Sometimes… I miss him. Sometimes, I want to wake up back in the mansion and have Jim hold me and tell me it'll be alright. Promise you won't tell anyone, though."

"I won't.. tell anyone. Lia, why didn't you say something before?"

"Does it matter? Just tell me, is there something wrong with me?"

"No, you've just got Stockholm Syndrome. It's fairly common. Look, Lia, I strongly suggest you go to therapy. I'm not going to force you, God only knows what would happen if I did, but I really think you should go. It's not good for you to miss him-"

"John, please stop. You think I don't know that? I hate myself for missing him, but I can't help it. I don't want to go to therapy, okay? Please just leave it at that. I'm taking my anxiety meds, I'll be fine." He looks at me for a really long time before he nods and continues reading his newspaper. I bring up a memory from my Mind Palace that Sherlock taught me how to build.

 _It's late in the afternoon and Seb is out again, killing someone. I'm laying on the couch, bored out of my mind. Jim comes running in the living room suddenly, pointing a neon orange gun at me. I stare at him for a long time._

 _"Say your prayers," he says in an overly dramatic voice. I only have time to furrow my eyebrows in confusion before a stream of water hits my forehead. I close my eyes until it stops and then look at Jim with raised eyebrows. He smirks at me._

 _"Jim."_

 _"Yes?"_

 _"Is that a water gun?"_

 _"Maaaaaaaybe."_

 _"Did you just squirt me in the face with a water gun?"_

 _"Yeah. What're you gonna do about it," he taunts. I jump up and lunge towards him._

 _"Oh, shit!" He runs away from me, laughing the whole time. I manage to catch up to him and I tackle him to the ground. He rolls away from me as I try to wrestle the water gun out of his hands, laughing and taunting me the whole time. I manage to pry it from his hands and then pin him to the ground._

 _"Ahhh! Hey, stop it! I'm sorry, I shouldn't've squirted you! I'm sorry! No, don't squirt me," he exclaims, laughing and trying to get up. I squirt him once in the face and then empty the rest of the water onto his suit. He's laughing as I let him stand._

 _"Gah, now my suit is all wet, you evil little girl."_

 _"You shouldn't've squirted me," I reply, laughing, too. He grins deviously._

 _"Well done. You did something evil. I should reward that. Hmm, I wonder what with?" He taps his finger on his chin and then smiles._

 _"How about a hug?" My eyes widen as I back away from him, still laughing._

 _"Don't you dare! Don't you dare hug me, you're soaking wet!" He opens his arms wide and starts moving closer. I keep laughing as I back away from him._

 _"No, darling, you should be rewarded. Stop being so modest, really, you should be. Come here and give me a hug." I scream as I run away, a large smile still on my face. He chases after me._

 _"Hey, all I want is a hug to congratulate you," he calls after me. I run past the door as it opens, Seb walking through, looking tired. He freezes at the sight of me running._

 _"Seb, you have to help me!"_

 _"Ad, what's wrong?"_

 _"It's Jim, he's chasing me!"_

 _"Why is Jim chasing you?"_

 _"He wants to-" My words are cut off by Jim wrapping his arms around me and the water from his clothes seeping into mine._

 _"Ugh, come on, Jim, this is my favorite hoodie!"_

 _"And this was my favorite suit. You deserve it."_

 _"You started it!"_

 _"And now I'm ending it." Seb stares back at us with a raised eyebrow._

 _"Ad… You said Jim was chasing you. I thought you were… possibly dying."_

 _"Jim was chasing me. To give me a hug. Because I squirted him with a water gun and he wanted to get my clothes wet, too."_

 _"Uh-huh." He turns back around and walks outside, closing the door behind him. Jim laughs as I try to wriggle out of his grip._

 _"You shouldn't've squirted me, darling."_

 _"You squirted me first. And we would've been even, but now we're not."_

 _"What are you talking about?"_

 _"Now I've got to pay you back for getting me all wet."_

 _"What exactly are you planning on doing?" I smirk deviously._

 _"Don't get too attached to that new tie." With that, I run off._

My eyes snap open as there's a loud noise and I flinch until I realize it's Sherlock banging the harpoon on the ground. I sigh as he stops asking John and turns to face me.

"Adalia, I need some. Get me some."

"Cold turkey. You promised." He growls out of frustration.

"Get me some."

"No." He points the harpoon at me. I involuntarily flinch.

"Sherlock, stop pointing that fucking harpoon at me before I throw out your skull." He grumpily places the harpoon down and turns around to face the door.

"MRS. HUDSON!" He starts throwing around papers, adding more clutter to the living room.

"Sherlock, you were doing really good, don't give up now," John says, trying to get Sherlock to listen to him, but he just keeps throwing stuff around.

"Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me." I raise an eyebrow. Please? He must be really desperate. He straightens up and makes puppy dog eyes at me. I cringe. Is this how Jim felt when I made faces at him?

"Please," he asks me quietly. I bite my lip.

"Maybe just one pack, John. Cold turkey has got to be pretty hard," I reason. John rolls his eyes.

"He's manipulating you by making faces, Li. No, Sherlock." Sherlock rolls his eyes, stands up, and continues looking for cigarettes. I throw a pillow at him.

"You can't just manipulate me like that, Sherlock!"

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers, John."

"Ha, no."

"It was worth a try." I stand up and slide my worn-out high tops on.

"I'm going for a walk."

"Get me cigarettes on the way back," Sherlock mutters.

"No." I head downstairs just as Mrs. Hudson comes up.

"Careful, he hasn't got any cigarettes," I mutter to her as I walk out. The air is nice. It's better than listening to Sherlock complain about his lack of cigarettes and John try to persuade me to go to therapy. I really do love them both, but sometimes I miss the calm of home with Mom and Dad and Jamie. I miss Mom making cookies in the kitchen, I miss Dad squinting at his computer in the living room, I miss Jamie taking my clothes to play dress up. I sniffle as a tear falls down my face and my feet carry me on autopilot. I just walk for the longest time, with no real idea of where I'm going until I get there.

An empty bit of space between two houses. Faint burn marks on the grass. And memories that come flooding back like a broken dam. I clasp a hand over my mouth as I shake my head, trying to forget. Madge, the eighty year old lady who used to live in the house next to mine, sees me and comes out of her house.

"Adalia? Adalia, is that you?" I nod as I walk over to her porch.

"Hi, Madge."

"Hello, sweetheart. How's your aunt?" Sometimes, I ran away from Aunt Clara and would end up here. Madge would always invite me in her house for cookies and moral support.

"She's, uh, she's dead." Her face turns to one of pity.

"You wanna come in and talk, honey?" I nod and follow her.

"Thanks, Madge."

"No problem. Who do you live with now? It's been ages since you've turned up."

"Well, some things happened. After I moved in with Aunt Clara, I got kidnapped. So I was living with a psychopath for nearly two years. And then I got rescued. So I'm living with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson now. They adopted me."

"Sweetheart, that's terrible. Did the psychopath hurt you?"

"Loads of times."

"You going to therapy?"

"Definitely not."

"Ah, wouldn't expect that from you, Lia. Always so independent." I laugh a little bit as we sit down at her kitchen table.

"Excuse me for one second, I've got to call Sherlock to let him know I'm okay." She nods and I pull out my phone.

"Hey, Sherlock."

"Lia! Are you okay, it's been an hour and a half since you left. I texted you fifteen times-"

"I'm fine, Sherlock. I just got thinking about Mom and Dad and Jamie and I turned up at my old house…Well, where it was, anyways. I'm having cookies with Madge."

"Madge?"

"She used to be my neighbor. I'm fine, Sherlock."

"Be home soon, you need to pack."

"…What for?"

"We've got a case. Dartmoor. I'll explain later, but it's got to do with a hound-"

"The hound of Baskerville?!"

"…Yes."

"Oh, crap! I'll be home in a bit, don't you dare leave without me, Sherlock!"

"I won't. John would have my head." I hang up and stand quickly.

"Madge, I'm so sorry I have to go so soon, but Sherlock's got a case."

"Is he a policeman?"

"He's sort of like a private detective, but better. The police go to him for help sometimes, and sometimes people go to him for private cases. But he's got a case, and we're leaving for Dartmoor in approximately three hours, judging by the urgency of his tone, and so I have to leave. I'm sorry I can't stay longer." She smiles and waves it off.

"It's fine, dear. Go investigate with Sherlock. Be safe."

"Thanks, Madge, you too." I run out and try to catch a cab before I realize I have no money. Sighing, I start the long walk home, from home.


	28. Chapter 27

"Shot gun," I shout, jumping into the front seat. John sighs and climbs in the back, crammed next to the suitcases. Sherlock sits in the driver's seat.

"Wait, wait, wait. Sherlock- you have a license and John doesn't?"

"I never said I actually have a license, I'm simply a better driver than John." He starts the car.

"Sherlock, if you don't have a license, why are you driving?"

"Because YOLO." I blink several times.

"Sherlock, just don't." He frowns as we pull away from Baker Street.

"Isn't that the thing now?"

"Amongst girls my age, along with selfies, yes. But it's because of people like you it's losing popularity."

"People like me? There are no people like me. I'm a genius-"

"Along with me, Mycroft, Jim, Einstein- Sherlock, you may be better than most of Scotland Yard, but you're still old. When old people say 'YOLO', it becomes un-cool. Understand?" He mutters something about not being old or un-cool, which makes John laugh, and I turn on the radio.

" _They're gonna clean up your looks,"_ I start singing along. Sherlock frowns.

"What do they mean-"

"Shut up! No one speaks during MCR!"

" _-With all the lies in the books,_

 _To make a citizen out of you-"_

"Are they not citizens or something? Are they illegal-"

"Sherlock!"

 _"Because they sleep with a gun,_

 _And keep an eye on you son,_

 _So they can watch all the things you do!"_ He switches it to a different channel and smacks my hand away when I try to turn it back.

 _"But I've got a blank space, baby_ -" He changes the station again.

"It's like you don't want me to sing or something."

"I don't want you to sing."

"Party pooper." I tap my fingers on the dashboard

"Ohmigodit'stooquiet," I suddenly burst out. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Can we just have this one car ride in peace? Baskerville isn't too far from here."

"Is it eight hours?"

"No, Lia, because eight hours is far."

"The last road trip I was on lasted eight hours."

"Who was that with?"

"Jim. I was bleeding and had a concussion and he let me hug him. I wasn't thinking straight at the time." I shrug and start humming obnoxiously loudly just to piss Sherlock off. His knuckles slowly turn white as he grips the steering wheel harder and harder.

"Could you stop humming?!"

"…Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-"

"John, control her."

"Lia, could you stop, please? I don't feel like hearing you and Sherlock bicker the whole drive."

"Okay." It's silent for another few minutes.

"Hey, John," I ask.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna hear a story I wrote?"

"Sure." I close my eyes and clear my throat.

"Once upon a time, there was an annoying git named Sherlock-"

"John, control her."

"No, no, go on, Lia."

"There was an annoying git named Sherlock. He ate the last of my fucking Lucky Charms and left the empty box in the cabinet-"

"I did no such thing."

"And then decided to fill the box with live spiders."

"Sherlock!"

"I didn't do that, John."

"So, when I opened the box, spiders fucking crawled up my arms. That's something not even Jim would do. You're a terrible person, Sherlock."

"I'm not, because I didn't do that."

"You did. Liar."

"There's no proof."

"Once upon a time, there was an annoying git named Sherlock who told a nurse that I had short term memory loss-"

"You weren't supposed to tell anyone about that!"

"-As soon as I was released from the hospital. On his first day of being my legal guardian, he took me to a morgue, where I had a panic attack."

"Sherlock!"

"Once upon a time, there was an annoying git named Sherlock, who was so annoying that everyone hated him, except for John, the very gullible and tolerant ex-soldier. John and Sherlock got married because nothing can sink this ship. The end."

"We're not married, Lia," Sherlock says.

"Yes, you are."

"We're not."

"You should be, dammit. I think it's high time you two got hitched."

"Okay, that's enough. Here you go." John hands me one of my books. "All you had to do was ask for it." Frowning, I hand him the book back.

"No, John, don't you guys want to hear my stories?"

"Not really," Sherlock mutters.

"It's about a murderer."

"…Go on."

"Okay. Hang on a sec, let me get into my story teller mindset." I clear my throat, then nod. "Okay.

"There was once a girl named Mary. She was depressed, because no one liked her-"

"She shouldn't've valued their opinions," Sherlock points out. I reach over and smack his arm.

"Don't interrupt the story! Okay. So she was depressed, and no one liked her. One day, Mary decided she could end her problems very easily."

"This story is a bit morbid, Lia," John says.

"Well, yeah, John, it's about a murderer. Could you guys stop interrupting me? Okay. So. She stopped taking her anti-depressants, and became suicidal again. Her parents had no idea about this, not until she was found dead at the bottom of a lake. But the police couldn't find any traces of how she'd died, not even post- autopsy. Not from over dosage, she hadn't been strangled, no sign of struggle. The water in her lungs was revealed to have been there only after she'd died, so she wasn't drowned.

"Everyone was baffled by her sudden death. She had no medical conditions, other than her depression, and police declared it wasn't murder, nor suicide, nor natural causes. They couldn't confirm anything, but they denied those three.

"Mary's parents were sad for some time, but earned publicity because of her death. After a while, Mary's parents were quite famous for this-"

"Mary's parents did it," Sherlock declares. I scowl at him.

"They didn't. Shut. Up. Okay. So Mary's parents were famous. They became rich because many TV shows wanted interviews with them, conspiracy theorists and the likes.

"Mary's parents were found dead three months after Mary had died. Mary's mother was found in her bathtub. Like Mary, there was no sign of what had happened. Not murder, not suicide, not natural causes. Police called it suicide to cover it up and make the publicity die down.

"Mary's father was a completely different story. He was found cut up and bloody in his bed. Definitely a murder.

"But, most peculiar of all, on the mirror of their bathroom… Mary's name was written three times in blood, with Mary's body, which had been buried, taped to the wall so she was staring down at her mother. And she was smiling. Mary had been buried frowning.

"Police were sure that someone had done this as some sort of sick prank, dug up Mary's body. And yet, her body hadn't decayed at all. She looked exactly as she had when she was buried, pale and dead, but not rotting.

"Every three months, there would be a murder and two bodies would be recovered: one cut up and bloody, one dead the same way Mary and her mother had died. And, on the mirror, Mary's name was written three times in blood and Mary was taped to the wall, dead but not rotting.

"This happened four times. A year passed since Mary's death. This time, when a body was found, it was a single body in the bathroom." I lower my voice to a hush. "The woman died the same way Mary had. And she closely resembled Mary. Her facial features, her eye color, her hair, her clothes. The mirror in her bathroom…was smashed into little pieces. And her body was the only one recovered, no viciously murdered body was found.

"When they took the woman's body for the autopsy, they didn't realize a shard of the mirror was stuck to her dress. The pathologist doing the autopsy cut her open and…Instead of blood, organs, tissue, muscles, and fat, she found ashes and worms. Some tests were run and it turned out it was human ash. As soon as she discovered this, she discovered the piece of mirror stuck to the woman's dress and picked it up.

"Mary's murder and the deaths linked to it had earned a nickname in the press: 'Bloody Mary', because Mary's name in blood was always found at the scene of the crime.

"So the pathologist looked into the mirror. All she saw was her reflection. And, mockingly, she said, 'Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.'

"AND THEN FUCKING MARY APPEARED IN THE MIRROR!" Sherlock swerves slightly as my tone turns from hushed to a shout and I hear John swear as I laugh, wiping tears from my eyes.

"Oh, God, your face, Sherlock…."

"Lia, why don't you read or something," John suggests. "Sherlock can't get pulled over because he doesn't have a license." I take the book John hands me, still laughing, and open it up.


	29. Chapter 28

Sherlock and John make me stay in the hotel room as they go to Baskerville. No, wait, that's wrong. John makes me stay in the hotel room as they go to Baskerville. Sherlock was fine with me going, and yeah, okay, I'm just a bit pissed. We came all the way to Dartmoor to investigate the bloody hound of Baskerville, and I can't even help. That's fine, John, crush all my hopes and dreams, why don't you?

I got pulled out of school for this. Yeah, that's right, I'm back to school (sarcastic yay!). They let me just continue into the grade everyone else my age is in because really, I could skip at least three grades. I just choose to stay in my current one so I can be back with my friends again. Sighing, I pull out my phone and send out a text to Jacki.

 _Help! -A_

 _Something wrong, Li? -J_

 _You hurt? -J_

 _Did you fall down the stairs again? -J_

 _Sherlock? -J_

 _We're at Dartmoor. John won't let me help investigate Baskerville. Stuck in hotel room. -A_

 _At school, or else I'd help you. -J_

 _He took my books with him. They're in the trunk. -A_

 _NOT THE BOOKS! -J_

 _Ha ha. I'm being serious. This is a grade-A emergency. -A_

 _You're suffering through boredom and I'm suffering through Algebra 1. Deal with it. -J_

There's a knock on the door. Not the one I recognize, the one Sherlock, John and I came up with so we always know it's one of us knocking.

"Who is it," I call tentatively.

"Please, let me in. I-I... I need somewhere to hide, I had to get away." It sounds like a young boy's voice, possibly my age, maybe a little older. I open the door because he sounds so panicked and he comes in quickly and then slams the door shut. He looks like he was crying.

"I-I'm sorry to intrude on you- I just... I had to get away."

"Hey. Are you alright? You look like you've been running for ages." He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and then nods.

"I have been. I-I ran all the way here from Baskerville Academy, I thought I'd be safe. Some of the older boys... they just wouldn't stop."

"Oh. Would- Would you like to sit down? Wait- You won't viciously murder me, will you?"

"No. Promise."

"Okay. You can stay here, then. Adalia Shonley."

"Alex Moriarty." I freeze at the name. No. No. Nuh-uh. Moriarty's a common last name. Right? He can't possibly be related to Jim. Right?

"Damn bastard," he mutters under his breath. "He ruins everything, my dad."

"So- So he is your dad, then? J-Jim?" The name is accompanied with an involuntary flinch. Alex nods and runs a hand through his hair.

"Unfortunately. We hate each other, so he sent me off to military school. Do you know hi- Oh. Oh, God." I frown slightly and then realize. I was fidgeting with my fingers and while he was analyzing me, he must've caught sight of my scars. "Do you- Do you mind? If I look?" I shake my head and hold my hand out.

"No. It's fine." He reads the words with pained expression and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand in a manner that makes me shiver slightly. Not because it's cruel. His touch is the exact opposite of Jim's. Whenever Jim touched me, it was to hurt me or make me uncomfortable. The only thing uncomfortable about this is the butterflies in my stomach.

"I'm sorry, Adalia. That he did this to you. So, so sorry."

"It's Lia," I say softly. "And it's not your fault that Jim is an asshole."


	30. Chapter 29

Sherlock and John freeze when they come back to the hotel room and see Adalia chatting with a random boy as if they're best buddies. They don't appear to see the two men, so Sherlock takes the opportunity to listen to their conversation.

"...Real jerk," the boy says.

"Preachin' to the choir, Alex. Look." She lifts her shirt up in the back and he winces as he sees the long scar.

"What was that one for?"

"I wanted to wear Converse. He wanted me to wear heels."

"He's fucking insane."

"No shit." Sherlock recognizes they must be talking about Moriarty. This boy obviously has a personal connection to him...

"Sherlock, I know you've been standing there for the past five minutes."

"And you've got a strange boy in our hotel room. Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Adalia. Moriarty," he asks about the topic of conversation. She shrugs.

"Think of it as a mix between a support group and an 'I Hate Jim' club. This is Alex."

"You must be Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. Pleasure to meet you."

"Personal connection. How do you know him?" Alex slowly lowers his hand and then shrugs.

"Well, you never asked my last name."

"Impossible. Moriarty would never have the patience to raise a son."

"No, Jim doesn't. Jay-" She elbows him. He abruptly stops talking, remmbering what she said before about Mycroft willing to do anything to stop his father. "He sent me to Baskerville Academy, right down near Dartmoor. Probably hoped I'd get mauled by the hound. Anyways, makes it so I've only got to see him Christmas day and summer holidays, so that helps me not be an insane, homicidal psychopath." He puts his hands in his pockets. He looks like Jim. Brown eyes, black hair, plenty of hair gel. He makes it look cute, though, and not menacing like Jim. Sherlock glances from Adalia to Alex and then from Alex to Adalia. His eyes flicker to John, but John is of course oblivious as usual.

"Quite obvious. What did I tell you about hiding your emotions, Lia?"

"Sherlock, maybe shut up now, thanks."

"Can't I say it?"

"Actually, sir, I've already deduced it myself," Alex says casually. She groans.

"Dammit!"

"No, I think it's kinda cute. Sorry, though, I'm gay."

"And I'd deduced that, so I didn't say anything, thank you, Sherlock."

"I should probably go now. Thank you, Adalia, for letting me hide out here for a bit. See you 'round, maybe?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Cool. See ya. Bye, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." He waves and then leaves. She fingers the bit of paper he slipped in her pocket and restrains a smile. He's not gay. She knows it. They made a cover-up, because there's no way Sherlock would let them see each other ever again if he knew. Adalia has to say, he was right. He is an exceptional actor.


	31. Chapter 30

Sherlock and John pick Adalia up before heading off to Henry Knight's house. He opens the door and is shocked to see the young girl; she's too busy biting her lip and avoiding looking at the huge house to notice.

"Hi."

"Hi," John replies. Sherlock, seeing his expression when he looks at Adalia, rolls his eyes.

"My daughter. Adalia. Li, this is Henry Knight, our client."

"Yeah," she murmurs. She's looking at the mansion and Sherlock frowns slightly.

"Flashbacks?"

"Restraining them for now. I'll be able to hold up."

"You sure? We could take you back to the hotel room, if you'd like," John offers. She shakes her head, sucking in a large breath, and plasters a smile on her face.

"It's all good. Lovely to meet you, Mr. Knight." She holds her hand out and he shakes it.

"Henry, please. Come in, come in." He ushers the three inside. Once they're all settled, Adalia pulls out her book. Always prepared. The three end up having one of their infamous silent conversations. A small flicker of the eyebrows from John. Put that away, we're with a client. Faint pursing of the lips from Adalia. Wasn't allowed on this case. Not my client. Slight clench of the jaw. Be polite. Rolling of they eyes. You can take the book from my cold, dead hands. She opens the book and begins to read and John accepts the loss.

John takes notes and then Sherlock shares his plan.

"We take you back out on the moor," Sherlock starts.

"Okay," Henry says.

"And we see if anything attacks you." Adalia snorts, still looking at her book.

"Lock, you're an idiot sometimes. Apologies about him, Henry." He nods, still confused, and Sherlock and John argue (nothing unusual there). Sherlock wins (nothing unusual there).

Adalia goes back to the hotel room. She feels like she spends all her time there, but Sherlock and John don't want her out on the moor. She sighs and reads and waits and then...

"Knock, knock," Alex calls from outside her door. She closes her book with a muffled squeal and opens the door for him, a large smile plastered on her face.

"Lex!"

"Hey, Lia." He kisses her cheek, takes her hand, and walks in. She shuts the door- she wants at least five seconds notice before Sherlock and John come in.

They have a long conversation, with lots of giggling, and Adalia knows that maybe this will only turn out to be a silly crush, but she feels like she's in love.

And then they have their first proper kiss- not a peck on the cheek or one of them chickening out as they lean their heads closer. An actual, proper kiss. It feels magical to Adalia and, for a crazed second, she thinks maybe they're meant to be.

"Are we interrupting something," John asks. Adalia quickly pulls her head away, but Alex lets his hand linger on hers for another moment. A daring one, he is, and Adalia thinks he's a keeper. But for now, she's got two angry men/completely unqualified parents to deal with.

"John. Hi."

"Adalia." She knows she's in deep shit because he's using her full name.

"'Ello to you, too, Lock." She smiles and waves and turns the charm level up. It doesn't work. She sighs.

"We were rehearsing for my school play. I want to audition when we get back, and there's a kiss scene. We had to stay in character."

"Lia," Sherlock says sternly.

"Yeeeeeeees?"

"Your school doesn't have a drama club." Well, fuck.


	32. Chapter 31

Sherlock and John pick Adalia up before heading off to Henry Knight's house. He opens the door and is shocked to see the young girl; she's too busy biting her lip and avoiding loking at the huge house to notice.

"Hi."

"Hi," John replies. Sherlock, seeing his expression when he looks at Adalia, rolls his eyes.

"My daughter. Adalia. Li, this is Henry Knight, our client."

"Yeah," she murmurs. She's looking at the mansion and Sherlock frowns slightly.

"Flashbacks?"

"Restraining them for now. I'll be able to hold up."

"You sure? We could take you back to the hotel room, if you'd like," John offers. She shakes her head, sucking in a large breath, and plasters a smile on her face.

"It's all good. Lovely to meet you, Mr. Knight." She holds her hand out and he shakes it.

"Henry, please. Come in, come in." He ushers the three inside. Once they're all settled, Adalia pulls out her book. Always prepared. The three end up having one of their infamous silent conversations. A small flicker of the eyebrows from John. Put that away, we're with a client. Faint pursing of the lips from Adalia. Wasn't allowed on this case. Not my client. Slight clench of the jaw. Be polite. Rolling of they eyes. You can take the book from my cold, dead hands. She opens the book and begins to read and John accepts the loss.

John takes notes and then Sherlock shares his plan.

"We take you back out on the moor," Sherlock starts.

"Okay," Henry says.

"And we see if anything attacks you." Adalia snorts, still looking at her book.

"Lock, you're an idiot sometimes. Apologies about him, Henry." He nods, still confused, and Sherlock and John argue (nothing unusual there). Sherlock wins (nothing unusual there).

Adalia goes back to the hotel room. She feels like she spends all her time there, but Sherlock and John don't want her out on the moor. She sighs and reads and waits and then...

"Knock, knock," Alex calls from outside her door. She closes her book with a muffled squeal and opens the door for him, a large smile plastered on her face.

"Lex!"

"Hey, Lia." He kisses her cheek, takes her hand, and walks in. She shuts the door- she wants at least five seconds notice before Sherlock and John come in.

They have a long conversation, with lots of giggling, and Adalia knows that maybe this will only turn out to be a silly crush, but she feels like she's in love.

And then they have their first proper kiss- not a peck on the cheek or one of them chickening out as they lean their heads closer. An actual, proper kiss. It feels magical to Adalia and, for a crazed second, she thinks maybe they're meant to be.

"Are we interrupting something," John asks. Adalia quickly pulls her head away, but Alex lets his hand linger on hers for another moment. A daring one, he is, and Adalia thinks he's a keeper. But for now, she's got two angry men/completely unqualified parents to deal with.

"John. Hi."

"Adalia." She knows she's in deep shit because he's using her full name.

"'Ello to you, too, Lock." She smiles and waves and turns the charm level up. It doesn't work. She sighs.

"We were rehearsing for my school play. I want to audition when we get back, and there's a kiss scene. We had to stay in character."

"Lia," Sherlock says sternly.

"Yeeeeeeees?"

"Your school doesn't have a drama club." Well, fuck.

I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. I don't really have an excuse besides the fact I get distracted easily.

A user who has remained anonymous has contacted me via reviews. You can see this person under the pseudonym "SH" in the last review on this story. They have requested that I "put a warning if I'm going to include a homosexual pairing". So here's your fucking warning: this story is gay. This story has undergone rewrites that will be published soon that make it even fucking gayer. And guess what? This story has a sequel. The sequel includes a lesbian- crazy, right? Another fun fact: the main character of this story is bisexual! How fucking crazy that a lesbian would publish something with a homosexual pairing in it! You know, just to be sure I don't offend anyone by existing, I should probably warn you guys. I'm gay. Here's a warning on my fucking existence.

Now "SH", you can get the fuck off my story. I'm quite happy and proud over here.

(Maybe I'll put Sherlock and John taking Adalia to her first pride? Sherlock would have to be in full drag, of course.)


End file.
